


Prison

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: AU, Alternate Universes, Angst, First Times, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-07-04
Updated: 1999-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-11 02:58:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 87,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/793262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a distant land, in another time, a man with troubled senses finds someone he didn't realize he was looking for. Learning to live with that fact takes time, patience and a lot of love.<br/><b>Archivist's note</b>: Due to length, this story has been split into five parts for easier loading.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am posting this story in 4 parts as it is very long. The story is complete and I will post all parts today. Just thought I'd warn you.

Due to length, this story has been split into five parts. 

## Prison

by Jack Reuben Darcy

Author's disclaimer: Usual stuff: I don't own them, someone else does, I'm not making any money from this - but I am having a lot of fun ...

When I started writing this story, I had no idea how long it would take me to finish - nor how difficult it would be. Some characters have no idea how important it is that they behave - and certain tussels of will ensued. However, I did have wonderful help from Tex, Rie and Kadru. Thanks guys - you gave me more work to do but the story is stronger for your efforts and I appreciate it. 

No condom use. 

Feedback welcomed. Flames will be ignored, so don't even bother. 

* * *

Prison - Part one  
By Jack Reuben Darcy 

_The melting voice through mazes running_  
 _Untwisting all the chains that tie_  
 _The hidden soul of harmony_

Milton 

The Raffles Hotel  
Singapore  
October, 1937 

The heat was oppressive. 

A force of invisible quantity, unbreakable and unending, thick and heavy in the air. Stealing strength from him, curtailing his natural movements, making him slow down. On every covered part of his body, Jim could feel sweat forming, sliding along his skin, soaking into his clothes, seeping into his mind. These days, insanity seemed far too close. 

He needed to concentrate but that wasn't so easy. He needed to move, and that was more difficult. Much simpler to stand here, leaning against a rough concrete pillar and let his gaze wander over the Raffles guests having dinner in the courtyard, The Palm Garden. 

Voices floated to him, jumbled, insistent, full of laughter and concern. Words about the situation in Europe, Hitler, crime in the streets here, share prices and social events both past and future. Familiar strains of music provided a permanent undercurrent; the sax player catching the flavour of a famous Jimmy Dorsey solo, the orchestra more than drowning out the sounds of the city beyond the walls of the hotel. 

What was he doing here? 

He let his back rest against the pillar, feeling his sweat-soaked jacket grip the rough texture, let it hold him up a little. He was tired, needed some sleep. The last three nights, Rukit's youngest had kept him awake, crying. He'd tried walking through the kampong, hoping to exhaust himself, but when dawn's light hit him each day, filtered through the slatted timber walls, he rose, still unrested. Cursed, even within the generosity of his friends. 

Rukit had told him to come here. That this place might hold some hope. 

Hope. A twisted thread of something invisible, something he could only hold onto during his waking hours, when daylight made anything seem possible. At night, when he tried to sleep, hope was something he couldn't believe in, something which couldn't exist. Not for him. Certainly not strong enough to override the fear he lived with each day, fear which flooded his nightmares. 

He turned his head, watching the elegant and wealthy enjoy their evening, sipping gin slings and swapping stories about the gangs of Chinese who roamed the city, robbing and murdering, how the Governor seemed to do nothing about it. There was talk about the war in Spain and whether Franco would win. And of course, the situation in Germany. Most of them were British, the accents clinging to the air, the very essence of humidity. So far from home and yet, still so connected to it, they seemed to both take Hitler very seriously - and think of him as some kind of joke. 

Laughter came to him over the gentle tinkle of glass against glass and Jim let go of the pillar long enough to look further across the courtyard. This place was certainly worth seeing at least once. A little Roman, a little Georgian in style, this small square was surrounded on all four sides by three floors of pillars, white and clean. Filling the courtyard were perhaps twenty tables, covered in stiff, white cloth, shining with polished silver and expensive china. Men and women sat around them, equally stiff in their dinner suits, evening gowns, hair slicked back, jewellery glittering. Beyond the tables was a small dance floor and beyond that, the orchestra. A few couples were already dancing - though the night was still relatively young. Waiters, both Chinese and Malay, brought plates and bottles out to the tables, their sharp uniforms a flash of red and black amongst the other colours. Potted palms completed the picture, cast along the pillars, bringing the flavour of the east into this very western establishment. 

The Raffles Hotel was legendary within the British Empire - and apparently the only place to go when visiting Singapore. As with all colonials, Raffles had tried to re-establish that which he'd left behind, reforming and remaking it in the image of all that he'd missed most from home. This hotel was an exemplary combination of all those elements. A huge white building with a Chinese red tile roof, standing near the docks. Rich and sumptuous rooms led from the balconies above, reaching into a distance Jim could only guess at. 

A corner of civilization, built by those who could not live without it. Exclusive. 

He shouldn't have come here. Not tonight. He should have come during the day, when it would have been quieter, when there weren't so many people around. 

He felt the odd gaze drift over him, heard the occasional word mentioned about him. He knew none of them, but even if he'd heard nothing and seen nothing - everyone in this room seemed to know he was an outsider. 

Outsider, certainly - but Rukit had mentioned the word hope and Jim had been awake, in the frame of mind where that frail thing still seemed to exist. And while it did, he would make the most of it. He would turn his back on the trail of failures littering his past, ignore the threat of fear and allow it to be pushed into the recesses of his mind by the bright lights and melodic music. There was a certain calm to be obtained by being around so many people, being so close to the edges of normality. He would make one more attempt to end the torture because a friend had asked him to try. A friend who knew nothing but understood so much. 

Gathering himself, Jim straightened up and headed for the other side of the courtyard, where he could see the Long Bar tucked into a corner beyond a pair of frosted glass doors. Carefully avoiding a collision with a waiter, he pulled on the cuffs of his borrowed jacket, tried not to loosen his tie, tried to relax and look as if he did belong here. He'd been native for far too long, the comfort of little more than a sarong now seeming totally at odds with these clothes and the behaviour his own culture demanded of him. 

The bar was more crowded and hotter than outside. Huge weighty fans spun from the ceiling, slowly, doing little more than moving the smoky air around. Instantly, his eyes began to sting, but he pressed forward, resisting the urge to put his hands over his ears. 

The bar was crowded. And deafening. No tables, but clutches of men standing around, smoking cigars, downing drinks, all laughing and talking at the tops of their voices. Germany. Gangs. Crime. Cricket scores. Labour problems. Noise and more noise. Thick drapes over the windows and plush carpet seemed to have little effect on the volume. Gritting his teeth, Jim continued on until he finally reached the bar. 

It took a few minutes before he could squeeze himself between two ex-soldiers and finally speak to the barman; another Chinese who raised patient eyebrows at him, prepared to help regardless of how strange the question might seem. 

"Can I help you, sir?" 

"I'm looking for someone." Jim replied, trying not to shout over the noise. "I was told I would find him here." 

"Is he a guest at the Raffles?" 

"I ... don't know. I was just told he can be found here, in the Long Bar." 

"What is the gentleman's name?" 

"Sandburg." 

Instantly, the man's face lit up in a smile, "Ah, the Professor! Of course, yes, sir, he is indeed here." Without pausing, the barman straightened up and took a quick look around the room. After a moment, he frowned, shaking his head a little. He turned, fired off a question in Mandarin to his nearest colleague then turned back. "I'm sorry, sir, I believe the Professor is not actually in the bar at the moment. However, I do believe you will find him in the Card Room." 

"How do I find it?" 

The man pointed, "Through that door there, up the stairs and on the right." 

"Thanks ... Er, what does he look like?" 

The barman smiled again, "Just ask anyone up there, sir. All my colleagues know the Professor." 

"Right," Jim nodded, raising a hand. "Thanks." 

Now that he had a perfect excuse to leave the stultifying atmosphere of the bar, he made his escape quickly, easing through the door in record time. Instantly the noise level dropped, though the orchestra was still swinging away in the background outside. A huge, wide wooden staircase led him to the second floor and a neat sign indicating the Card Room. 

Peace descended on him as he entered. The air here was also thick with smoke, but the noise was almost non-existent in comparison. Lights hung low from the ceiling, illuminating dark red walls and a dozen small tables scattered about the room. At every one, at least four men sat, focussed on their game, ignoring just about everything else. A number of other men stood about, simply watching, served by the usual quota of discrete Chinese waiters, silver trays almost an adjunct to their uniforms. 

He stopped just inside the door and waited for his ears to adjust to the quiet, allowing his gaze to roam across the people before him. English, American, German, a couple of French and Italians. Everybody spoke English in Singapore, everybody. But the conversations here were quiet, subtle, directed towards the game and only the game. 

So, which one was Sandburg? That big guy by the opposite wall, face red with the heat, handlebar moustache almost dripping with sweat? Or the one by the bar, tall, thin and far too pasty for this climate? 

Slowly now, he scanned the faces, ignoring those whose age would deny them the title of professor. One by one he looked and saw nothing he could immediately place trust in. 

Stupid idea, coming here in the first place. Why would Rukit think some European professor would be able to help him? Surely all he needed was the right kind of doctor ... 

Jim shivered. The last time he'd spoken to a doctor, the man had tried to stick needles in him, tried to dose him up on morphine to dull the constant noise beating in his ears, to control his behaviour, to make him conform. 

Right, so no doctors. 

Frustrated, hot and tired, he finally caught the eye of a waiter and ordered a tonic water. As the man brought it back to him, he asked his question, keeping his voice low. 

"Where I can find Professor Sandburg?" 

Another smile greeted his question, much as the one downstairs had. Jim found it oddly unsettling. "Ah, Professor Sandburg." The waiter refrained from pointing but instead turned and nodded towards the far side of the room, to a table mostly obscured by others. "You will find the Professor over there, his back to the window. He is the only one wearing glasses." 

Containing his relief, he thanked the man and took a mouthful of his tonic. The bitter fluid eased his thirst and he headed towards the window, frowning as he found the table. 

Four men sat there, each holding a hand of cards. By the look of it, the game was poker. Another six or so stood around, silent, simply watching the tension drift from one player to another. A pile of cash sat on the green felt table between them, added to as each man placed a new bet. The worst off seemed to be the man closest to him, a slight, nervous looking Italian, fanning himself with a large red handkerchief. Opposite him sat another man, fortyish, cold blue eyes, a face like a stunned mackerel. He sipped from a glass of whisky and didn't remove his gaze from his own cards. Between them a man of around sixty threatened to crush the chair beneath him with his weight. Wrapped in a huge white suit, thinning hair streaked across his pink pate, he fingered long sideburns which joined together at his chin, a smile on his face as he watched his opponent. 

He had to move a little to see the fourth man - and nearly turned and headed back to the kampong. 

Rukit must be mad! This man was little more than a kid! Couldn't be more than twenty! Alright, twenty-one if he was allowed in this place - but really! How could this be Professor Sandburg? 

But the waiter had pointed him out - and yes, the young man was wearing glasses. They sat perched upon a straight nose, on a face clear of any lines. Long hair was slicked back, tied up behind. The full mouth was pursed in concentration, one set of fingers tapping lightly on the table, the other holding his cards. He wore an elegant dinner suit and crisp white shirt, black tie immaculate. He appeared to be the only man in the room unaffected by the heat. 

"Well, Professor?" the old man urged, his grin widening. "What's the verdict? Care to dazzle us again - or has your luck finally thinned out, eh?" 

The young man simply shook his head, placed some notes on the pile and motioned with his hand. The Italian immediately threw his cards down and stood up. The old man laid down his hand, a pair of tens and a pair of jacks. The whisky drinker shook his head, drained his glass and planted three fours on the table. 

The young man smiled, glancing up at both of them, looking about sixteen. He took his glasses off, put them in his pocket without saying a word. He just placed his cards down one at a time. Four sixes. 

The whisky drinker didn't like that much. He stood, "Once again, Professor, I thank you for relieving me of my money. I fear the favour may never be returned at this rate." With that, he left them, shaking his head. 

The old man, however, just laughed. "Go on, boy, it's all yours. Buy yourself a haircut, will you?" He levered himself out of his chair and ambled towards the bar, making a level-voiced announcement as to the Professor's continued winning streak. 

Sandburg's gaze followed him for a moment and he chuckled. He shook his head and began collecting his winnings together. The crowd had already broken up, leaving Jim standing alone slightly to one side, watching. Should he say something? Should he actually go through with this? 

Damn Rukit for caring! 

"Excuse me? Are you Professor Sandburg?" The words were out before he could stop them. 

"Yes? What can I do for you?" The man replied without looking up. He was piling his money together, folding bills and putting them into the inside pocket of his jacket. 

Jim watched the action and frowned, despite himself. "Are you going to just walk out of here with all that?" 

"Why?" The young man finally looked up - and paused, his mouth opening but saying nothing for a moment. "Do I know you?" 

A clear, dark blue gaze raked over Jim, making him suddenly uncomfortable, more uncomfortable than the heat and noise and smoke could ever make him. Shaking himself internally, he held out his hand, "James Ellison." 

The professor got to his feet, taking his hand, "Blair Sandburg." 

The hand in his was remarkably cool, but he could feel a hardness there, the echo of a scar, callouses on the fingers. This kid was nowhere near as soft as his face implied. Taken aback a little, Jim frowned, "You're American." 

"So are you." A warm grin split the man's face, and Jim's discomfort faded a little. But when he said nothing else, Jim began to feel the heat again and shifted from one foot to the other. An odd sense of foreboding drifted across his eyes, and he glanced around the room. No danger, here. Just a bunch of men playing cards. He and Sandburg were alone by the window. 

"So?" Sandburg finally spoke, his hands moving as he did so. "Were you looking for me?" 

Was he? Looking for this man? Rukit had sent him here, assuring him that this professor would be able to help him - but ... 

No! He trusted Rukit. There was no way the old Malay would send him on a fool's errand. On the other hand, there was no way Jim was just going to blurt out the problem. He needed to know a few things first. 

"I ... er ... I wanted to talk to you, if you have the time." 

"Oh, sure." Sandburg frowned a little. "What about? Why me?" 

"A friend gave me your name. Is there somewhere we could talk? Where it isn't so hot?" 

"In Singapore?" Sandburg laughed. "Not until the monsoon. But look, my room's just down the hallway. We can talk there if you like?" 

For a second, Jim was tempted to decline - then harshly suppressed the temptation. More than that, he was angry for needing to. After all, this man posed no threat to him. Why should he be afraid? 

"Sure," was all he could manage. 

"This way." Sandburg led him back through the Card Room, out into the hallway and past the stairs. Keeping to the second floor, the young man talked, his voice easily heard over the noise in the courtyard below. "It really does get a little cooler when the monsoon season starts. Should be some time in the next few weeks. Of course, it also gets a lot wetter. And the humidity in the afternoons is almost unbearable. The worse it is, the more rain we get. Comes at the same time each day. You can almost set your watch by it. Just don't get caught out in it. You'll never catch a cab and you'll be soaked to the skin in minutes. I ruined my best pair of shoes my first day here. What part of the States are you from?" 

Jim only recognized the last as a question because Sandburg had finally stopped before a door, key in hand and was facing him. "Uh, north west." 

"Oregon?" 

"No, Washington, near Seattle. A place called Cascade." 

"Really? That's amazing! I spent a summer there when I was a kid. Nice place." Turning, Sandburg opened his door and led Jim into a room which was noticeably cooler than outside. "I always get a room on the east side of the hotel. Keeps it from heating up too much in the afternoon. Now, can I get you something to drink?" 

Jim came to a halt and looked around the room. Rich and sumptuous were the first words which came to him. A large double bed took up most of the left wall, draped in a brocade cover. An ornate teak closet stood against the wall by the door next to the bathroom while a plush green rug welcomed his feet. To his right sat a huge oak desk and a black portable typewriter, both strewn with papers and books. Opposite him, two French windows led out onto a small balcony where a cane table and chairs soaked up the moonlight. 

"Mr Ellison?" 

Sandburg had stopped in front of him, his constant chatter halted for a moment. Open, friendly, warm. Normal. 

"Jim. Call me, Jim." And for a long minute, there was something inside him which wished he hadn't said that, wished he could take it back, wished he could return this to normal formality. 

But it was too late. Those blue eyes were staring at him, warm again and interesting and he forced his gaze away, to the balcony, the furniture, something neutral. 

Damn it! 

Why now? Hell, why? 

Damn it, Ellison, this is _important_! Forget what the kid looks like, forget that he ... 

"I have some vodka," Sandburg continued, noticing nothing unusual in Jim's behaviour. 

"No, I ... don't drink." Urgent necessity drove Jim out onto the balcony, away from that gaze, away from the sudden desire to take that face between his hands and ... 

Stop it! Stop thinking about it! 

"Will tonic do you? I have some I keep in cold water in the bath. Saves having to order ice every hour. By the way," Sandburg appeared at his elbow, a glass held out, "call me Blair." 

Jim looked down at the glass - not at the man. He took it, careful not to let his hand touch that skin. 

"Now, take a seat and let's get down to business." Sandburg pulled out a cane chair, letting it scrape across the floor. He sank down into it, waiting for Jim to sit before he continued. "You said somebody suggested you talk to me? Somebody I know?" 

"Not personally, no," Jim swallowed tonic water again, forcing himself to concentrate on something other than the physical presence facing him. Instead, he let his gaze roam out towards the street below, let his ears absorb the quiet noises of the city, the clatter of horses and hum of cars. Beyond, he could hear the harbour, smell the sea drifting on the heavy night air, salty and sweet, dripping with possibilities. 

Blair. His name was Blair. And his voice was soft honey, lingering over everything else, leaving a trail for him to follow. Breadcrumbs scattered across a laden night, bright and dark, hard and easy. 

His name was Blair. 

"Jim?" 

He started when he felt the hand on his arm. Blinking suddenly, that face too close to him, he almost jumped out of his chair - but harsh prudence forced him to calm a little. He could only bear to look into those eyes for a moment. "Sorry, I was just thinking about something." 

Blair waited a second, then regained his seat, the small frown appearing once again, "Must have been something pretty important - you were gone a full minute there." 

"Sorry." This was ridiculous! How could he do this? How many times had he told himself that this ... this was unnatural? To have these feelings for ... another man was ... a perversion he had to rid himself of. Hadn't he succeeded before? Hadn't he managed to banish this from his life? God, how long had it been since he'd felt this way? 

Had he ever felt _this_ way before? About _any_ man? This quickly? 

"No." 

"What?" Sandburg sat forward, placing his glass on the table. "No, what?" 

Jim bit his lip hard, dug his fingers into his thigh, away from where Sandburg could see. He took in the bitter pain, held it, used it to focus, the only way he knew how. He waited another heartbeat and once more forced himself forward. 

A little more in control, he turned back, allowing himself to meet that gaze without flinching, suppressing the shiver he knew was trembling inside him. "Look, I'm sorry, Professor, I'm not trying to be rude. It's just that, I've been away from all this for the last couple of years," he waved his hand to indicate the city in explanation, "and I'm still getting used to civilization." 

Sandburg raised his eyebrows a little, giving Jim a casual smile, again relaxing him. "That's okay. How long have you been in Singapore?" 

"Six days. I haven't spent much time in the city yet." 

"Where were you before?" 

"Burma. I... er... worked in a village there." 

"I see," and the young man managed to put enough into his tone to make it sound like he did see, did understand and once more, Jim found the tight knots in his stomach unwind a little. "So, who is this person who suggested you talk to me?" 

"Rukit Lapor. He lives in Katong. I'm staying with him at the moment." 

"In a kampong? With the locals?" 

"That's right. Why?" 

Sandburg just smiled and waved a hand, "No reason except that most westerners wouldn't be seen dead in one unless they're looking to buy opium - and they can do a better deal on the streets here, though I suppose the gangs put most people off. Kampongs are way too... dirty, yes, that's what they say." 

"There's nothing dirty about a kampong." Jim's objection was out before he could stop it. "Those villages are cleaner than these streets, I can tell you!" 

"Hey, it's okay," Sandburg held up his hands, laughing a little. "I've spent enough time in kampongs to agree wholeheartedly with you. Let me see, Rukit Lapor, no, I don't think I know him. How does he know me?" 

"He said he had a cousin in Malaya who worked with you last year." Jim kept his gaze on Sandburg this time. He needed to see the reaction, had to know if there was any hope for him here at all. 

"Oh, I was all over Malaya last year. Did he give you a name for this cousin?" 

"Er ... no." 

"Okay." Sandburg sat back, folding his fingers together and keeping a steady gaze on Jim. "So what did you want to talk to me about?" 

"Your work." 

"What about it?" 

Good question. Rukit hadn't actually said anything about what this man did. Damn! "This is going to sound really stupid - but could you bear with me? Would you tell me exactly what it is that you do?" 

"Exactly?" Sandburg laughed again, something he appeared to do quite easily. Shaking his head, he stood and disappeared into the room, coming back a moment later with the bottle of tonic water. He topped up Jim's glass and put the bottle on the table. He didn't go back to his seat however. Instead, he leaned back against the balcony rail and folded his arms. "Well, I'm not sure I can describe it exactly. I'm an anthropologist. I spend a lot of time in Malaya. I'm studying the effects of the Chinese population here on the Malay culture across the Straits. There are so many differing cultural influences in Singapore. Indian, Burmese - not to mention just about every European nation and every other country in the world who can send ships through this port. It's even harder with this being a colony. Is that what you wanted to know?" 

Jim closed his eyes a moment, biting back his disappointment. So, Rukit had been wrong, this man couldn't help him. "No ... or rather, yes, I suppose it was. Look, Professor ..." 

"Blair." 

And again, Jim was caught in that gaze, snared as though he were a fly in a spider's web, every move he made entangling him further. He could say nothing, move not a muscle ... 

Was it possible ... in that gaze ... was there ... an ... - oh, god - an invitation? 

And then he heard it, above his own violently beating heart, that of the other man, hard and steady, faster than it should be. And a scent ... was it arousal? Something ... 

Oh, god! 

Despair drove him to his feet. He couldn't do this. Just couldn't. No matter how he might want to. It was wrong, wrong! Christ, he'd only just met the man! How could he want ... 

His glass found its way to the table, he was already turning before the hand caught his arm. 

"Jim? What's wrong? Did I say something?" 

The voice stopped him. Concern, genuine and real. Making him feel like a fool. Hell, he was reading his own hidden desires into this man's looks, his words. There was no interest there, no invitation. How could he have been so blind! 

"No, Chief, I'm sorry. Look, pay no attention to me. I think I'd better be going." 

"Chief?" 

Jim had almost torn himself free of the young man's grip when this word came out, rich and warm. Despite his trepidation, his gut-wrenching fear and his all-consuming dread, Jim turned back and saw the wide open smile spread across a face too beautiful for its own good. 

In his mind's eye, he saw himself live within that smile, meet those eyes of sunset blue, saw his face come down and take those lips with his own, tasting the moist tongue which tempted him, wrap his arms around the compact body standing so close. 

The smile faded but the warmth did not. The hand stayed where it was and Jim made no move to leave. Again he could hear the shift in the young man's heartbeat, tried not to, tried to think of something else, anything that would drag his attention away. 

But then he ... _Blair_ spoke, in little more than a whisper, "Don't leave." 

>From somewhere, Jim found words, some kind of response, "You ... don't understand. I have to." 

Blair shook his head, "No. You don't." Fingers tightened around his arm, eyes grew darker, voice grew husky. "Stay." 

Desperate now, Jim shook his head, "You have no idea what you're talking about, what you're doing. I'm sorry, I do have to go." 

"You're afraid." 

"Yes. No." Wrapped up in a tangle of confusion, Jim finally managed to move, prying those fingers from his arm until he was free. He took a step back - and realized only belatedly that he still held that hand in his own. 

Letting go felt worse. 

"Look," he shook his head, "I am sorry. I think I ... well, I shouldn't have bothered you. Just forget about me, okay? I won't come back so you don't have to ..." He was already turning and heading into the room again when once more that voice reached him. 

"You're a sentinel!" 

Jim fled. 

* * *

As the door slammed behind the man, Blair stood where he was, unable to move as the shock ran through him, a maelstrom of heady desire and awestruck amazement. 

A sentinel! 

He had to be. No doubt about it. 

Incredible. 

Unbelievable. 

His feet began to move, taking him to the door, belatedly. He pulled it open, glanced both ways down the corridor - but Jim was gone. 

He didn't notice he'd returned to his room until he was actually sitting on the bed. Idly, his gaze dropped to his hand, the hand that had tried to stay Jim's retreat. 

"What an idiot!" 

Collapsing his muscles, he fell back on the bed, shoving his hands under his head to watch the ceiling fan wind around and around. 

How could he have acted like such a fool? Hadn't he gone way past the point at which he allowed his body to make decisions for him? It had been years since he'd last allowed a physical attraction outweigh his good sense - and he'd paid mightily for it that time, too. So, Jim was one of the most beautiful men he'd ever seen - so what? Didn't mean he had to scare the poor man away, making a pass at him like that. 

But if he'd stayed ... "Oh, god!" Blair moaned aloud, closing his eyes tightly. He could still feel the tingle of anticipation rattle through his body, desire co-mingling with shame that he had done something so gauche as to offer himself to a man clearly not interested. 

And what kind of impression had he made, doing such a juvenile thing? What would Jim think of him? A true sentinel might at least have heightened hearing, enough to notice his accelerated heartbeat, perhaps even scent his arousal. 

"Stop acting like a teenager, Sandburg. The man's not interested in men. Leave him be." 

Leave him? 

A sentinel? A real, live sentinel? 

Never! 

* * *

Sunlight flickered through the palm leaves above as he picked up another strip of rattan and plied it to the end of the last. Carefully, Jim held the dried fibre between his fingers and wound it around the end of the stick, tying in the bound cane spears. He finally got to the end, tucked it in as Rukit had shown him - then let go. For a single heartbeat, it held - then, without so much as an excuse, it slowly unwound itself until the whole thing fell apart. 

With a grunt of frustration, Jim gave the thing a kick. The cane scattered across the swept dirt of the kampong, colliding with the house wall. Instantly ashamed, he glanced around to make sure Rukit wasn't watching. Then he quickly gathered up his tools and began again, placing one bamboo spear next to the other, as he'd been taught. 

Why couldn't he get this right? It was the simplest of things, making a cane broom. Children of five managed to do it - why couldn't he? Especially when his eyes could pick up so many of the imperfections no other child or adult would ever see. It simply couldn't be this hard. How was he ever going to find something to do with his life if he couldn't get something this simple right? 

The children had left him alone this morning. Normally they would follow him everywhere until their parents would chase them off, sending them to collect water or round up chickens. But he could hear them, by the stream, laughing and splashing each other, their innocent noises drifting towards him, a reminder of simpler things than even this broom. Important things. 

Rukit had asked him about his meeting with Sandburg. Had shown great sorrow that the man had been unable to help Jim, had even asked questions, just to be sure. Of course, Jim had said nothing about the ... other things he'd seen - or thought he'd seen. Now, a week later, he was no longer sure he'd seen anything other than compassion and understanding in those deep blue eyes. 

Sentinel. 

That's what Sandburg had called him. A sentinel. What was that supposed to mean? The same as that rubbish the simple Burmese had called him? A guardian? He'd never been too sure of the translation, but every attempt he'd made to clear it up, using pictures, examples and every other linguistic tool at his disposal, the meaning returned inexorably back to the original. Sandburg had simply given it another name, one he wasn't sure he liked any better. Especially since it implied that his problem couldn't be fixed. 

Shrieks of excitement from the children made him look up from his work. Still sprinkled with water, they were running through the kampong towards him, yelling to him. A gaggle of chattering, noisy laughter he always smiled at. The oldest was no more than five, the rest long since sent to work. 

He couldn't make out anything they were saying but he stood as they reached him, grabbing his hands, hauling him forwards. He nearly tripped over a couple of stray chickens and the neighbour's dog which darted off between two huts in an attempted escape Jim was a little jealous of. It was only when he came around the side of Rukit's house that he saw what the noise was about. 

Sandburg. 

Surrounded by his own collection of excited little geese, Professor Blair Sandburg caught sight of him, smiled and waved a hand. 

Stunned for a moment, Jim could only stare as Sandburg approached. He wore a white shirt, open at the collar, the cuffs folded up to his elbows. Tan trousers and worn brown shoes completed the casual elegance. Even the hair was different, no longer slicked by cream, it was pulled back as before, but softer now, a single strand falling at the side of his cheek. 

Involuntarily, Jim took a step back. 

"God, James Ellison, you are a tough man to track down!" Sandburg laughed in greeting, splitting his attention between Jim and the children. He rattled something off to them in swift, perfect Malay then turned back to Jim. "I've walked the length and breadth of every kampong in the whole of Katong looking for you. I knew I had the right one today when I mentioned a tall American and these kids nearly went crazy." 

"You looked for me?" Jim got the words out through clenched teeth, his whole body reacting to what he saw and how much he wanted it. This was insane! Had his life been so torn apart by his curse that he could no longer even talk to an attractive man without feeling this threat to his self-control? What the hell was happening to him? 

He had to find some way to get rid of this devil. He would be fine if this man would just leave him alone. Sandburg couldn't help him - and anything else was ... impossible. Jim would make sure of that. He'd cured himself of his attraction to men once before. He had to be able to do it again. Simply had to! 

"Of course I looked for you." Sandburg tilted his head slightly. "I really wish you hadn't run off like that. I know you wanted ..." The children were jumping up and down now, demanding his attention. With a glance of patience towards Jim, Sandburg knelt down, and spoke quietly and carefully to them, getting them eventually to nod. Without another word, they all turned and ran, laughing again. 

Finally alone, Sandburg straightened up, ran a hand over his hair. "Look, we really need to talk." 

"No, we don't." Turning, Jim headed back around the house, began picking up his tools once more. 

"Yes, we do." 

The sound was no more than a whisper - but Jim heard it clearly. He whirled around to find himself alone. Suddenly panicked, he stormed back around the house to find Sandburg where he'd left him, his face clear of expression. 

"What ..." But Jim knew it was already too late to pretend. He stopped in his tracks and closed his eyes, his shoulders sagging in defeat. Yeah, this was impossible. 

Coming towards him slowly, Sandburg said, "We do need to talk, Jim. You need some help - and I think I can give it to you." 

Jim's eyes snapped open at that, looking for whatever meaning those words had. But Sandburg's gaze was absent of anything other than a clear intent, a desire to be of assistance. The sharp retort ready on his lips slowly died. No, he had been wrong about this man. Very wrong. Sandburg had tracked him down simply because he wanted to help - nothing more. It was only Jim's internal confusion that made it seem more, a confusion he could quell if there was some way the professor could help him. 

Swallowing, feeling a little reassured, Jim murmured, "I don't see how you can help me. You don't even know what the problem is." 

"Oh?" Sandburg offered a light smile, "So why did you run from my room the moment I mentioned the word sentinel?" 

Jim had to look away, to stop his face from colouring. He took a deep breath and let it out, as the Burmese shaman had taught him. As before, it did little to ease the tension in his body. 

"Listen, Jim, those kids will be back in a minute. Why don't we walk down to the beach? The wind coming off the sea keeps the humidity down a little. What do you say?" 

Listen? To that voice? The man was actually asking him if he wanted to listen to liquid gold? 

Jim nodded, half of him at war, the other half, at peace. There was little to fear at the moment. Out here, in the open, he was unlikely to do something he would regret - especially when the young man's interests lay so obviously in the sentinel question. "Let's go this way." 

He led Sandburg between neat wooden huts and juvenile palms until they reached the road. Pausing only for a donkey and cart to go by, Jim took him across to where huge coconut palms rooted deep into sand, couch grass holding on tentatively to the shifting ground. Beyond, sparkling in the morning sunshine, lay the sea. 

They were not alone even here. Further along the beach, men worked on a fishing boat, painting it bright blue. Jim turned left, away from them and headed towards a rocky outcrop, where gentle waves splashed against hard stone. He knew Sandburg walked beside him, but he didn't look at the young man. 

"Why did you call me a sentinel?" 

Jim came to a halt when there was no answer. Sandburg paid no attention to him and instead, stepped onto the rocks. There he squatted down and dipped his hand into a rock pool, more of his hair falling free. 

"Have you ever heard of Sir Richard Burton?" Sandburg finally replied, in a conversational manner. 

"The explorer?" 

"That's him. He was probably the first real anthropologist, a great man in many respects. He wrote a number of books, some about weapons and swordsmanship." Sandburg paused as he lifted a shell out of the water to take a look at it. "He was also responsible for translating the Karma Sutra and bringing it to the notice of the western world. Some people have never forgiven him for that." 

Jim climbed onto the rocks and stopped alongside the distracted man. "What about him?" 

"Well, he wrote a few other things, between looking for the source of the Nile and sleeping out with the Bedouin. He also wrote a monograph that's pretty much ignored today. He could have written more - but his wife burned a lot of his work after he died and nothing more survives." 

This was so much easier to do when the younger man had his focus somewhere else. Jim coaxed his body to relax a little, felt the tight balls of muscle in his shoulders loosen. What harm would it do to listen? 

He found a nearby rock and sat, resting his arms on his thighs, his gaze still on the professor. "And what about this monograph?" 

"Well, that's the thing that started me on it but, but I've also picked up other references over the years. It's a bit of a hobby of mine, pretty much since I was a kid. Hey, look at this." Sandburg picked up a sea-anemone and held it up with a child-like grin splashed across his face. Jim smiled in return and shook his head. It was still impossible to believe this young man could be old enough to be a professor. 

"And?" 

"Oh, yeah ... um," putting the thing back down, Sandburg shifted to another pool a little closer to Jim and sat, keeping his hand trailing through the water. There was something about the way he spoke which suggested enormous energy only barely contained. "Well, Burton stated that in all tribal cultures, every village had what he named a sentinel, somebody who patrolled the borders." 

The excitement in the young man's eyes was easy to see. 

"Like a scout?" 

"No, no, no, more like a watchman. See, the sentinel would watch for approaching enemies, changes in the weather, movement of game. Tribal survival depended on it. The sentinel was chosen because of a sensory awareness developed beyond that of normal humans." 

Jim stood abruptly, all his disquiet rolled up into one ball sitting like acid in the pit of his stomach. "What?" 

Sandburg scrambled to his feet, his hands moving rapidly. "Look, I know it seems a little crazy - but it's true. I have dozens of documented examples of one or two heightened senses, usually taste and smell but as far as I can tell ..." 

"How old are you?" Jim demanded, anger threatening his fragile control. 

"Twenty-six. Why?" Sandburg watched him warily, his eyes huge. 

"How the hell do you get to be a professor at twenty-six, eh? You don't know what the hell you're talking about! Heightened senses be damned!" 

"Look, I'm not actually a professor - " 

And that was all Jim needed to hear. He turned and would have walked away if Sandburg hadn't grabbed his arm, much as he'd done last week. This time, Jim shook him off. He couldn't afford to let this ... _man_ touch him again. 

"Jim!" Sandburg snapped, "Listen to me!" 

"What?" Jim stood over him, making no progress in his war with himself, the half that wanted to shake the life out of this charlatan and the other half, the part which wanted desperately to touch, caress, hold and keep. 

How had this happened? So quickly? 

But there was nothing of that in those eyes today. Nothing at all but a clear and bright intelligence, an energy that hung about him like a halo, adding to the angel's face. "You came to me because you had a problem. Now, you might think I'm crazy but you are having trouble with one of your senses, aren't you?" 

When Jim didn't answer, Sandburg grabbed his arm again, "Well? Do you want my help or not?" 

"How the hell can you possibly help me?" Jim was desperately trying to ignore that cool hand on his arm, still moist from the sea water, skin against skin. 

"Jesus, Jim, how would I know? And I won't know if you don't tell me what the problem is. Your friend told you to talk to me - if you don't trust me, can't you at least trust him? I've been working with these people for almost three years. They know me. Your friend knew enough about me to tell you I could help you. I think I can - but you've got to tell me which sense you're having trouble with." 

Skin against skin, that's what he felt. Just skin - and so much more. A warmth, the warmth of another human being was being transmuted to him, something of care and determination wrapped inside it. 

He needed help. 

And Sandburg was offering it. 

Could he afford to turn away now, just because he felt this ... unnatural desire to ... 

Filling his lungs with air, Jim let it out slowly, doing nothing about the touch, letting it link him to something, someone, perhaps even quell the fear. Then, in a small voice, he released the secret. "All of them." 

Sandburg's eyes widened, his mouth opened in surprise - quickly translated to a smile, wider than the sea behind him. "Are you serious? All five senses? Wow! I mean, that's ... incredible!" Dropping his hand, the young man stepped back, "I ... don't know what to say. I mean, I always wondered but ... Hell! A _real_ sentinel!" 

The words came out in a way that, under other circumstances, would have made Jim's skin crawl - but there was something so hopelessly innocent in the kid's wonder, Jim found himself loosening a little, at least enough to manage something of a smile. "Careful, Chief, I wouldn't want you to go cracking something you might need later." 

At his comment, Sandburg burst out laughing. "Hell! You are ... " Shaking his head, he sank onto a convenient rock. "Okay, okay, let me have a think about this. Um ... yeah, okay. All five senses? Right." 

"Look, Sandburg ..." 

"Blair. I told you before." 

Jim let out a short laugh, returning to his own seat a few feet away. This was getting ridiculous - and dangerous. Anger one minute, laughter the next. Too little sleep, too many senses he had no control over. There was more than his sanity under threat here. 

Taking another calming breath, he kept his voice level, empty of all the things he was so forced to suppress. "Look, Chief, I don't expect any miracles, here, you know. I've had this problem for a long time. I don't expect you to come up with a cure overnight." 

"A cure?" Blair glanced up, total confusion filling his face. "What do you mean, cure? Your senses are heightened naturally, Jim. I can't cure them back to normal. Nobody can. Not unless you're prepared to lose them completely - as in being blind and deaf." 

Jim stared at him, despair grinding away inside him like a millstone, "Then, I guess..." his voice caught, "I guess you really can't help me." 

He wanted to walk away then, gather his things from Rukit's house and find the first ship out - but for the moment, he didn't even have the energy to look away from Blair. If this was all he was ever going to allow himself, he would hold it for as long as he could. 

And within the two halves of him, something began to hurt. Badly. 

He didn't even realize Blair had approached him until he stopped only inches from Jim's knees. A steady hand came out to his shoulder, and Jim had to look up to see into those eyes which seemed to hold so much for him. 

This was daytime - and this looked like hope should look. It was there, in those blue eyes. 

"Jim," Blair began, his voice low, "what you feel is natural. You were born this way. Why would you want to be cured? Wouldn't it be better to embrace what you are, learn to live with it? That's what I can do. That's how I can help. Sure, I don't have a lot of answers for you right now, but give me a little time, a chance to do some tests. You have to tell me what kind of problems you're having and maybe I can find a way for you to deal with them." 

Problems? 

And once again, his mind's eye lifted an image off a blank page, of Blair laid out beside him, naked, sweating in the eastern heat, his skin velvet and steel, soft moans filling the air as Jim touched him, kissed him ... 

"Please, Jim," Blair added in a whisper. "I want to help you." 

And in those words, Jim found an answer he wasn't expecting, knew, as surely as he was sitting there that if he moved, reached out and pulled this beautiful man towards him, Blair would come to him, offer up his mouth to be kissed. Would find some way for that mind's image to become a reality. 

The temptation tantalized as it horrified him. Sweet ecstasy and daylight terror twisted inside him, exciting and emptying him all in one second. 

And for that one second, he was tempted to do just that. To reach out, to hold, to ... feel ... something he'd never felt before ... To feel ... real. 

"I can't," he forced the words out, forced air in, forced himself to sit up, to stand up, forced his body to conform to his will because if he didn't, he'd be lost, so very lost and he'd never, ever for the rest of his life, find himself again. 

He simply couldn't do that to this man. Couldn't immerse him in a perversion he understood nothing about. He was an innocent and didn't need Jim to corrupt him. 

"You can." Blair let his hand drop but only stepped back a little, his gaze never leaving Jim's face. "You have to." 

"No ..." 

"Jim!" Blair's eyes flashed, a hard glint in the sunlight. "You _don't_ have a choice! If you've already had enough problems that you're prepared to go to a complete stranger for help, then I'm guessing things are pretty bad. If you don't do something about this soon, you could end up dead! All I'm asking is for you to give me a week. That's all, just one week. Let me work with you, do some research. If I can't find at least one answer for you in that time, I promise, you'll never see me again. I promise, Jim. But, please, just give me a chance." 

And there was nothing he could say to that. Nothing that could communicate all that warring confusion, no words from either of his halves to claim the moment. Inside, he was silent at that plea, so he did the only thing he could do, reaching for the thread of hope with a hand stained with despair. 

"Okay." He swallowed, easing the words out, "One week." 

Blair's smile came slowly, but blossomed in full. "Yeah? That's great, Jim! Great!" He pulled out his pocket watch, gave it a quick glance, frowned and appeared to think for a moment. "Look, I have an appointment back at the hotel in an hour. Why don't you come in this afternoon? We can talk, I can take some notes, you know, make a start. Or do you have plans for this afternoon?" 

"No plans." Jim replied, almost mechanically. He couldn't look too deep inside right now, Blair was so mesmerizing to watch. Recriminations could come later. "Only, I'd rather not meet in the bar." 

"Why not?" 

"Smoke." 

"Oh, right, sorry. Um, how about ... there's a lounge on the second floor, above where the orchestra plays. It's called the Tiffin Room. Can you find it? At say, three?" 

"Fine. I'll be there." 

Blair turned - then paused. He glanced back, an eyebrow raised half in question, half in doubt, "Promise?" 

And the halves clanged together again, echoing throughout his sanity. Jim smiled, "Sure. I'll be there. Promise. Now go, or you'll be late." 

With a grin, the young man was walking away, heading for the road. Jim watched him hail the taxi which appeared to be waiting for him, watched him climb in, watched him drive away. 

What was he doing? Who was he calling crazy? Was he really going to let this man get close enough to learn about his problems? Did he dare risk it? And what if he couldn't control himself, what if, some time in the next week, he reached out and actually touched ... 

"Damn, it, Ellison - just don't think about it! He's a man; it's not natural! Now just let him do his thing, find out he can't help you and then leave him alone. Don't even think about anything else. Corrupting him is the very last thing you want to do!" 

And with that, he turned and headed back to the kampong. He had a broom to make and he had to finish it before lunch. 

* * *

Blair hadn't ordered the second pot of tea but was rather grateful when the tray was placed on the table before him. He looked up from the papers on his lap, smiled at the waiter and nodded for him to pour. Crimpton, apparently comfortable in his armchair, simply watched the entire process, the sweat glistening on his forehead the only concession he made to the heat. 

"I hope you find everything in order?" The lawyer said evenly as the waiter disappeared. 

"So far," Blair replied, glancing around the lounge, looking for Jim. It wasn't three o'clock yet, but that didn't stop him hoping the man might turn up early. But there was somebody there, walking past the door, a man who looked a lot like Carl ... 

No, it couldn't be him. He would know better than to ... 

Blair turned his attention away from imagination, back to looking for Jim and when he caught no sight of the big American, he turned back to the papers, lifted the last page up to indicate a paragraph. "This section here? Is this my grandfather's doing?" 

"I believe your mother had a similar clause in her trust deed. Her father insisted upon it, wanting to make sure that the man she married was at least suitable to her status. I'm sure your grandfather only wishes to ensure you are not the target of any ... fortune hunting women." 

Blair was tempted to smile at the plain, uncomfortable man before him forming words that were clearly distasteful to him. Crimpton was the epitome of servile respect, extending to Blair the courtesies due his position. Probably not a bad person inside, but would he be so nice if he understood the reasoning behind this meeting, these papers Blair was supposed to sign? No, he was civil simply because he took Blair at face value, saw the money, saw the name. Nothing else. 

With a smile, Blair lifted another page, covered in handwriting, "That's fine - except that she doesn't actually say in her letter what kind of woman would be suitable. I would have thought that if she really expected me to find a wife out here, she could at least have given me a hint as to what she would find preferable." 

"Mr Sandburg, your mother made no mention to me of whether she expected you to find a wife while you were here. And as to the suitability of such a ..." Crimpton paused, his brows drawing together as a thought framed itself. "Am I to understand you have already entered into such an understanding with a young lady?" 

"Well, I ..." 

"Blair, darling!" 

>From nowhere, a scented presence wafted towards him, all chiffon ruffles and elegant coiffure. Blair came to his feet as Annabelle reached him, giving her the kiss on the cheek she always insisted upon. 

"Am I disturbing you, darling?" Annabelle as usual, paid no attention to whatever answer he might have given, taking a seat next to him on the sofa, tossing a casual glance in Crimpton's direction, just to make sure he was not somebody she needed to know and be polite to. "Whatever is all this? Not business, I hope. Don't tell me you're going off on one of your awful expeditions again! Honestly, sweetie, I don't know how you can manage to live with those natives. No bath, no champagne and no decent food. However do you manage it? You must be a saint." Annabelle ran a long-nailed finger down Blair's cheek, a dangerous caress that made him laugh. "And such an angel's face to go with it. I certainly hope those people appreciate what you do for them, poor helpless things." 

Still laughing, Blair gathered his papers together. "I'm sure they do, Anna. And they're always so polite about it, too. Never interrupting me when I'm busy." 

"Oh, you horrible child, you," Annabelle pouted, all mock distress. Within a second however, her dimples reappeared, bold red lipstick bright as the sun. "Listen, darling, a bunch of us are heading out on Sammy's boat this afternoon. Come and join us, do. Helen is coming along, now that Daddy's gone back to London. And Susie will be there. You like Susie, don't you? And Rafe and Harry - no, wait, I think Harry's still courting that _awful_ woman from New Jersey. Anyway, there's a whole _bunch_ of us going. Please, say you'll be there?" 

Blair stacked his papers together and pulled a pen from his pocket. Leaning down on the coffee table, he signed three times and handed the rest back to Crimpton. "When do you head back to the States?" 

"It will take my office here another three days to finalize things, then I'll be leaving. I'll drop the documents in to you before I go, if that is satisfactory?" 

"Sure, that'll be fine." Crimpton got to his feet - but Blair was denied any chance of speaking to him again. 

"Blair, _darling_ ," Annabelle demanded his attention by taking his chin and forcing it around to face her. "You're not listening to me. A romantic evening on board Sammy's boat? Music? Dancing? He swears he has a dozen crates of the best French. Nobody can turn down an offer like that, can they?" 

Blair took her hand from his face, giving it a quick squeeze. "Anna, don't think I don't want to go - but I really do have a lot of work to do. I'd love to come but - " 

He broke off with a movement in the corner of his eye. He didn't even need to look to know who it was. His heart began to thud hard in his chest - and he really wished it wouldn't because that tall man over there was a real live sentinel and he would certainly - well, almost certainly \- be able to hear it. 

Switching his attention back to Annabelle, Blair gave her the best smile he could manage considering all his facial muscles appeared to have frozen in their places, uncaring of the afternoon heat. "Anna, please believe me, I'd love to go - but you know, duty calls and all that. But you go and have a lovely time. Tell the others I'll see them day after tomorrow. At Barney's picnic?" 

Annabelle let out an enormous sigh, batted her eyelashes a little then got to her feet. "I was right, darling, you are a martyr to your work. Very well, I'll let you off this once - but no excuses on Saturday. Barney is setting up the badminton net and if you don't help me beat Susie and Tom, I shall never speak to you again." With that, she leaned down and gave him a deliberate kiss, full on the lips, knowing she was shocking everybody else in the lounge. As she moved away, she gave him a devilish smile and then was gone, the essence of her fragrance drifting behind her like the wake of a sailing ship. 

"Beautiful woman." 

Blair snapped around to find Jim standing before him, pale blue shirt neatly pressed, white trousers and white jacket perfectly casual. The man was a model for the concept of beauty - and most likely didn't know it. "Hi. Sit down. Like some tea?" 

"Hate tea." 

"Coffee, then?" 

"Yeah, coffee would be good. Can't remember the last time I tasted good coffee." 

Blair smiled, suddenly light-headed. Jim had come after all. He'd come all the way into the city, just to talk to Blair. 

Barely controlling his excitement, he waved a waiter over, got him to collect the tea tray and ordered some coffee for them both. That done, he turned his attention to the man seated at right angles to him, legs crossed, hands folded neatly on his lap, grey/blue eyes taking in the opulence of the Tiffin Room. 

This morning, Jim had appeared to be a man under some stress, his bearing, his words entirely at odds with the simple clothing of a long sarong and faded blue shirt; clothes which outlined a strong and powerful body Blair had done his best to ignore. Now Jim seemed different, more relaxed somehow, as though the last few hours had seen some kind of internal struggle won - or lost. Not that anything showed on Jim's face however. No, Blair had noticed that right from the start. The face displayed little beyond the odd jaw-clench. It was the eyes that told him what he needed to know - the eyes, and his own instincts. 

Jim Ellison was afraid. 

But exactly what he was afraid of remained for Blair to discover. But whatever he did, he had vowed not to make the same mistake he'd made a week ago, foolishly showing his interest to a man who was patently dismayed by the suggestion. No, he would have to shelve all such thoughts about this incredible man - especially if he honestly expected to find some way to help him. 

"So, you have to tell me," Blair began, keeping his tone light, something of a smile on his face - not hard to do when sitting next to probably the world's only living sentinel. Christ, Burton would have killed to be here in his place! "I have to know how you can manage to look so neat while living in a kampong without running water or electricity." 

It was the right way to start. Jim chuckled, glanced down at his hands and picked a piece of imaginary lint from his trousers. "I have an ex-navy friend who has been kind enough to lend me some wardrobe items - along with a bath and a houseboy who irons pretty well." 

"You were in the navy?" 

"My friend is ex-navy. I was in the army." 

"How long?" 

"Eight years. Just long enough to want to get out." 

"And before that?" 

"College." 

"And since?" 

Jim shrugged, looking away again. "I joined the police in Cascade." 

It wasn't hard to read the man's reactions, "Until you began to have difficulties?" 

"That's right." The jaw clenched for the first time that afternoon - so Blair pulled his notebook from where he'd wedged it between the cushion of the sofa and the arm. He opened it to a new page and looked up again. 

"How long ago was that?" 

"Two years." 

"And what did you do?" 

"Do?" 

"Yeah. I mean, did you go and see a doctor or something?" 

A hard glint flashed into those eyes, pinning Blair to his seat. "Not voluntarily. My Captain ordered it. They ... locked me away, thought I was insane. I kept seeing ..." 

Jim broke off as the waiter brought coffee. He said nothing else until the man left. 

"You kept seeing?" 

"Things. I kept seeing things." 

Blair heard the irritation in the voice and paused in his questions long enough to pour coffee, hand a cup to Jim. Then he sat back again. "Just sight?" 

"No, hell, it was everything, alright?" Jim sat forward, obviously trying to hide his discomfort at having to talk about this. His voice dropped \- though nobody was even remotely close enough to hear what they said. There were barely ten people in the lounge and all of them were at the other end of the room. "Clothes would burn my skin. I ended up with blisters at one point. One day I could barely hear a thing - the next, I was deafened, couldn't switch it off. Food tasted metallic all the time, I could hardly keep anything down." 

"What did the doctors say?" 

"Not much. Put me in a straight jacket and fed me morphine." 

"Christ!" 

Jim glanced up, appeared to calm a little at the expression on Blair's face. "Yeah, well, I didn't stick around long enough for them to do any real damage. I broke out after a week, when they were transferring me to a hospital for the criminally insane." 

"But why?" Blair left his notes for a moment. "You didn't hurt anybody, did you?" 

"No, but I came close. Wanted to strangle the doctor with the morphine needles. I guess they were just afraid, you know?" 

Blair said nothing for a few minutes, allowing Jim to drink his coffee in silence. 

It was odd, but he'd never thought about this moment, never really envisaged finding a real sentinel - and this morning he'd felt like he'd won the jackpot. But now, sitting here, watching the pain be so successfully suppressed from that handsome face, he began to wonder if this was such a good idea. Sure, he could write a book about this, something to rival even Burton's greatest texts - but was that all he was seeing? 

Would he find the sentinel only to lose the man inside? 

"Hey, wanna get out of here?" 

"What? And go where?" 

"A chance to do a few tests. Nothing too difficult." Blair signed the bill and left it on the tray. "Ever been to Orchard Road Market?" 

* * *

"That's great, Jim, just absolutely amazing." Blair scribbled one more note and stepped to one side to let a man pushing a cart to go by. The chaos of the market spread out around them, a thousand noises and smells, sights and colours - and so many this incredible sentinel could catalogue without even trying. 

For two hours, Jim had let him ask questions, test a few wild theories, play a few tricks - and over that time, Blair had developed a good feel for what he needed to do next. However, the big man never once mentioned the actual troubles he was having. These little exercises, while testing, weren't really that difficult. After all, he was surrounded by input \- how hard could it be? 

No, the real test would be for him to pick out something invisible to the normal senses, in an environment that gave little or nothing away for free. So, that would be tomorrow's plan. Get Jim somewhere on his own, make him work at it. 

Sure, Blair was making this up as he went along, but the challenge was too great for him to toss away without at least a very good effort on his part. 

Blair indicated a lane they could turn down. Orchard Market was probably his favourite. Always full of new things he wanted to see, handcrafts and foods, intricate baskets hanging from hooks, handmade wooden bowls and implements. A treasure trove he never tired of whenever he came back to Singapore. 

Jim walked at his side, continually shifting to make room for throngs of shoppers, people with baskets and those towing live pigs behind them. 

"Okay," Blair continued, "Let's try something different. What's a scent you know really well?" 

"I'm not good with names. I wouldn't know where to start." 

"Well, the name doesn't matter at this stage. Just picture it in your head and see if you can find it somewhere here. Something nothing to do with food would be useful. A spice would be too easy." 

Jim nodded, his head up, his feet moving him forward. Blair just watched him for a moment, his thoughts drifting as he gazed at the square shoulders encased in blue cotton and not for the first time that afternoon, a part of him mourned the fact that Jim was indeed a sentinel - and that Blair had offered to help him. Given enough time, he could, he knew that, believed it. 

But he also knew that, given enough time, he could have something very special with this man. _If_ he was interested. Pity he wasn't. 

The very first time he'd seen the man, a week ago, the same thought had struck him. Jim standing over the card table, tentative, hesitant, asking his name. Blair had looked up, and looked - and nearly blown the chance of his career. 

Jim hadn't run away that night because he'd been called a sentinel. He'd run because he believed Blair was making a pass at him - and he was repelled. Possibly even revolted. 

And that thought burned in his gut, making him determined never to make another move on the poor man - especially since he had in fact made said pass quite deliberately. Standing on his balcony that night, his hand on Jim's arm, all he'd wanted in that moment was to take the man to his bed. 

They'd only just met. 

No more than half an hour in his company. 

But Blair had seen enough to know. He'd seen the fear in those eyes, the pain lurking behind, suppressed, ignored just to go on living. Somebody had hurt this man, and hurt him bad. And Blair, god help him, wanted to be the one to heal that hurt, to make it better. 

Wanted to get close enough to try. Wanted this man to like him. To respect him. Even if he had to hide the greater part of himself to do it. Hell, it wouldn't be the first time he'd had to make that sacrifice. 

And he was supposed to be the clever one in the family. Huh! 

Jim had stopped at the end of the lane. He turned to face Blair, a crooked smile lighting his features, making Blair smile in return. That was such a nice smile, so full of sunshine, so genuine. But the man didn't smile often enough. 

Moving forward, Blair caught up with him. "Well? Find what you were looking for?" 

"Yeah, I guess - but I'm not sure it'll be any help." 

"Why?" 

"Well... I..." Jim struggled to keep the smile but it began to fray at the edges. "What kind of soap do you use?" 

"Soap? Um, sandalwood, I think. Why?" 

In reply, Jim leaned towards him a little, sniffed slightly then stepped back. "It's you, then." 

"Huh?" 

"Yeah." Jim shrugged, glancing at his feet. "I thought of a scent and went looking for it, like you said. I guess I was just ... looking for ... " 

Blair supplied the answer, "Me?" 

Jim's gaze shot to him, hot and searing a moment - before being shut down, hard, behind a wall of normality. "Yeah." 

Blair couldn't take his eyes away, a shiver running down his spine he had no control over ... 

Not interested? Jim? 

So much for being the clever one! Yeah, Jim _was_ interested. Very interested. Perhaps a little too interested considering how public they were right now. 

Hell! 

Words came to him, overriding panic, "Look, Jim, why don't we finish for today, huh? Why don't we ... " He caught himself in time, bit back the words offering Jim a drink in his room. He couldn't do it. This man was terrified of these abilities and had come to him for help. Blair couldn't take advantage of him like that. "Why don't we call it a day, huh? You're probably tired and everything and I don't want to push it too hard, make you have some kind of reaction or something. We could start again tomorrow morning. Hey, we could take a walk around the city. That would work. Have you seen much of it yet?" 

"No." 

"What do you say? Meet me in the Palm Gardens at the Raffles at say, eleven?" 

Jim's gaze narrowed a little and for a fleeting moment, Blair was sure the man was going to refuse. But then Jim nodded. "Okay." 

Blair let out an inaudible sigh of relief and shepherded Jim out of the market. 

* * *

The ringing wouldn't stop. On and on it went, crying and bleeding through everything, tossing and turning his black memories, tearing things apart. Images kept coming towards him, half-shadowed, nasty and vicious. People he knew, yelling at him, words impossible to understand, all he felt was their hatred, their blind self-absorbed hatred, clinging to him, sticking like mud, like leaches, bleeding him dry. 

He was adrift between them, no anchor to support him, no home to run to. 

His skin caught fire, numbed and burning, itching. Hands clawed at him, words clawed at him, light clawed and stripped him bare, brazen and aching inside. Trembling he fell, down and down, further into the darkness, further into the blindness ... 

A cold hand on his shoulder snapped him back, woke him, had him half out of bed and ready to attack before he could stop himself. Wildly, he searched the night for a face - and found it. Rukit was leaning over him, concern etched on his brown features. 

"Jim? You okay? More dream?" 

"Oh shit!" Jim hauled in air, raising his hands in apology, shaking his head. "Hell, Rukit, I'm sorry. Did I wake anyone else?" 

"No. I up to stoke fire. Heard you. You okay now?" 

Okay? When his skin still felt on fire? At least the noises had dropped down so he could cope. Hell! Another night like this and he really would go insane. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." 

"Sleep again, Jim?" 

"No, I don't think so." 

"You need sleep. Try." 

"No. I'd better go down to the stream. I need to cool off." 

"Okay. Be careful." 

Rukit stepped back and moved into the other room. Jim rolled off his sleeping mat and stuck his feet into his sandals. He grabbed the small towel he travelled with and ducked out of the house. It was still dark outside and for once, his sight was behaving. He found the path to the water with no trouble at all. Once there, he waded into it, leaving his trousers on. There were real leeches in this water and he had no desire to be any more bled than he already was. 

The water was cool and glided over his flaming skin like the greatest balm imaginable. He let out a long contented sigh as he sank down into it. His hands smoothed over his shoulders and arms. The fire went out under such attention. 

Damn it! How many nights now? How many times had he woken from something like that? Too many to count. Though at least this time, he'd not hit anyone, broken anything nor woken the entire household. And he'd come to very quickly, snapped back to reality much better than before. 

One small blessing amid the curse. 

He floated back into the water, keeping his feet on the muddy bottom. His eyes drifted upwards and took in the pre-dawn sky where lumpy clouds skittered past, already fringed with a warning glow. 

Was it possible the anthropologist could help him? Was it really? Would these terrible nightmares, these outraged senses actually stop torturing him before they killed him? Or worse, before he killed someone else? 

Sandburg believed he could help. He was an intelligent, well-educated man, sharp and observant with a keen interest in the story about the sentinel. Did it matter whether Jim was really one or not? 

Sentinel? Crazy idea. Simply crazy. But the offer of help was there - and Christ knew he needed it. 

Jim came to his feet and waded out of the stream. He had work to do, people to feed, a head to get back in order before he faced Sandburg later on - and Rukit would be worried. 

Same curse, different day. 

* * *

Blair made a point of taking Jim to the most famous sights first, while he was interested, keeping the testing and such for later in the day. They wandered in and out of the Empress Place Museum, St Andrew's Cathedral and the Thian Hock Keng Temple and Jim took it all in, seeming to listen to Blair's explanations and history - even occasionally asking him a question or two. 

Not that Blair allowed himself to chatter incessantly all day. No, he talked when it was important; the rest of the time he asked his own questions, observing the man, deliberately engaging Jim in real conversation, about any subject that had nothing to do with senses and sentinels. 

Of course, he did his best to ignore the casual touches they exchanged during the day. Nothing more than a brush here, a pat there to gain attention, to indicate something. Jim was a very tactile person - he also touched walls and statues, inhaled deeply of incense burning outside of temples. A man with heightened senses, after all, would engage them on a normal basis, wouldn't he? 

Jim's knowledge of world events was pretty good considering the man had just spent two years in Burma. But of course, knowledge was one thing \- intelligence another thing entirely - and Jim displayed more than his fair share in the way he responded, in how he viewed things. His ability to understand and summarize a complex situation without diminishing its impact, had Blair shaking his head in amazement on more than one occasion. And sometimes his questions had such a wonderful simplicity to them, they made Blair laugh in delight. 

After lunch, they wandered through Chinatown, picking their way through streets lined with butchers' shops, fortune tellers and calligraphers. Jim was even drawn into a couple of Shenist temples where he behaved with perfect courtesy while playing the tourist. 

It was difficult, faced with Jim's evident interest in this place, to force him to concentrate on tests. He never brought the subject up himself, and after a while, Blair found himself less willing to start. There was something extremely nice about this kind of wandering, especially with somebody he was beginning to like a lot. Somebody who was interesting in his own right, able to make Blair laugh with his deadpan humour and neatly eloquent asides. Jim was the kind of company Blair really missed. 

Truth was, he was enjoying himself. So too, it seemed, was Jim. Why ruin a good thing? 

By mid afternoon, Blair was thirsty and ready to sit down for a while and by the looks of it, so was Jim. Steering him to the nearest market, Blair saw what he was looking for and glanced aside at Jim. 

"Have you ever tried starfruit?" 

"Do stars have fruit?" 

The easy response made Blair chuckle. "Ah, one of the mysteries of Singapore. This way." 

There were tables and chairs on the outskirts of the market, close by a busy road filled with rickshaws and overburdened lorries, handcarts and people. There weren't many westerners around but that didn't appear to bother Jim. 

"You spend much time in Singapore?" Jim asked, sipping his starfruit juice like a man asked to drink poison. 

"Quite a bit. I do three month stints in Malaya, then come back here, use the library, write up my notes, do a little more research on the Chinese culture and then go across the Straits again. I guess I've probably spent about a quarter of my time here, in the city." 

"Do you like it?" 

"Singapore?" Blair raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, I guess I do. It's really very interesting when you get to scratch beneath the surface. Multicultural influences abound. I should really do a follow up comparative study on how the Chinese culture here has adapted and changed from that in China." He would have gone on but Jim was smiling at him. "What?" 

"You don't stop working, do you, Chief? This anthropology really has you in its jaws." 

"Uh, I guess so," Blair shrugged. He couldn't tell whether Jim was laughing at him or not. It wasn't the first time people had raised their eyebrows at his knowledge or interests. It also wasn't the first time it had annoyed him. But he hid it, as he always did. After all, what was the point in arguing? "Sorry, I guess you must be pretty bored hearing me spout all this stuff at you." 

"No, not at all." Jim's headshake and expression were entirely genuine. "It's like having my own private tour guide." 

Blair brightened a little at that. "Well, if you want to see something really interesting, you should make sure you're in the city for Thaipusam." 

"What's that?" 

"This amazing Hindu festival." Blair leaned forward, putting his arms on the small table. "Devotees do all these incredible things to honour Lord Subramaniam and you just have to see it to believe it. They pierce their bodies with things that look like fish hooks, looped into the skin. These are attached to bicycle spokes which in turn are attached to this huge contraption that sits on them like the frame of a dome, covered in peacock feathers. It's called, Carrying the Kavardi. They then march in a procession from Sri Srinivasa Perumal Temple on Serangoon Road to the Chettiar Temple on Tank Road - and not a drop of blood is spilled on the way." 

Jim was grimacing long before he finished. 

"I've even seen some guys spear this long bamboo pole through one cheek, through the tongue and out the other cheek. I don't know how they do it, but some of them do it every single year of their adult lives. It's some kind of religious rite of passage." 

"And when does this happen?" 

"Oh, I can't remember at the moment. The date is like Easter, based on the lunar calendar. Why?" 

"So I can make sure I miss it." 

Blair grinned, "And you used to be in the army. Didn't know soldiers could be squeamish." 

"Then you obviously haven't been in the army yourself." 

"No way!" Blair laughed and sat back, "Sorry. I guess I should have left out a few of the details." 

"Actually, Chief," Jim pinned him with a level gaze, the frame of a smile sitting around his eyes, "it's not so much hearing the details - but the relish with which you describe them." 

"It's the scientist in me." 

"Oh yes?" But Jim laughed at that, and Blair laughed with him. 

It was hard to keep his eyes from Jim, hard not to sit there and study him openly. For all his easy manner today, there was still an underlying discomfort, a thread of buried fear tangling his gaze when he wasn't paying attention. Jim was a man walled up within his own world, his errant senses the only thing leaching out to confront others, touching a reality he didn't really want to know about. 

Short cropped hair, a lean tanned face, square jaw and piercing blue eyes. Tall and powerful, tough and strong, Jim Ellison saw his heightened senses as a weakness, wanted to be rid of them, probably even hated them. 

Yeah, hard to steal his attention away, hard to make himself forget the fact that he was very strongly attracted to this man, with or without the heightened senses. And that scared him. A lot. 

He could fall in love with this man, without any trouble at all. Simply fall and never be able to get up. Odd, considering that he'd never really been in love before, how he could just know something like that. And dangerous, with a man who might be interested but was obviously afraid to acknowledge it. 

Very dangerous. 

Blair was almost ready for another drink when Jim tossed him a question. 

"Why do they call you professor if you aren't one?" 

Surprised, Blair looked up. "I don't know. I guess because I'm here studying. Anybody with a few degrees has to be a professor, you know how it goes." 

"How many degrees?" 

"I'm working on my doctoral thesis at the moment." 

"How long have you been here?" 

"Three years almost." 

"And you live at the Raffles?" 

"Off and on. When I'm here." 

"On some kind of study grant?" 

"In a way." 

"Go on." 

Blair played with his glass for a moment, "My grandfather was an amateur historian. When I entered college to study anthropology, he offered me some money to study in the field - as long as I did it outside the States." 

"Why?" 

The image of Crimpton instantly flashed into Blair's head, along with the reasons for his visit. With a mental shake, he dismissed it. Taking a brief glance at the other man, Blair chose a sideways answer, "Oh, that's a long story. Not that I mind. It's much more interesting here than at home." No, that was one subject he didn't want to get into. And why should he? Why should he have to remember? Didn't he have to live with it every day? 

Jim nodded, absorbing the answer, seeing that it was an evasion. But he didn't push it - fortunately. Instead, he kept his gaze on Blair, his entire body perfectly still. "How did you know?" 

"Know what?" 

"About my ... you know, my senses." 

Blair raised his eyebrows. He finished his juice and set the glass down. "I don't think I did - not at first. But then you told me about your friend. I didn't recognize his name but last year, I met an old Shaman, near Malacca, on the west coast of Malaya. I only stayed there a couple of days but I learned a great deal from him. In the process, I told him what I knew of sentinels. He didn't have any similar stories to tell me and I suppose I'd forgotten all about it. It's possible this man could be your friend's cousin. It was the only reason I could think of why anybody would send you to talk to me about my work. I take it your friend knows about your senses?" 

"Rukit? Yes, I suppose he must - not that we've talked about it. But he has had to ..." 

"What?" 

Jim frowned and shifted in his seat, forcing his gaze back over the market. "I ... I'm not sure this is such a good idea. This has been ... going on for so long now. I don't think I want to face the disappointment again when we find out you can't help me. I would still rather you found me a cure." His voice dropped so low Blair could hardly hear it. "I hate being like this." 

"Well," Blair took in a breath, forming his words carefully. "Perhaps the reason why you hate it so much is because you're having trouble. If we can find a way around that ..." 

"You don't understand what it's like!" Jim hissed, his gaze dropping to his hands. "It's just not normal. I want to be normal, like everybody else. I want to be able to go to sleep at night and not hear the blood rushing through my own veins. Have you any idea what it feels like to have such an intimate knowledge of the workings of your own body? To have them plague you, day in day out? The reason why people _don't_ have heightened senses is because you really don't want to know about that stuff, you don't need to hear it because if you do, it will send you insane!" 

Blair blinked at the harsh tone, not taking his eyes from the other man. Yeah, there was a lot of pain here, some of it buried so deep, it was unlikely he would ever even get close to it. 

So he didn't try. "Jim, I know I don't really understand. How can I? This is a first for me, okay? Jim? Look at me?" He waited until the man looked up before continuing in a firm but gentle voice, "But let's take this one day at a time. You said you'd give me a chance. Just try to relax. If it turns out I can't help you, then maybe ... maybe I can find a Chinese doctor who has a herbal draught he can give you, to help you sleep or something." 

"Herbs?" An ironic smile lit half of Jim's face. "Have you any idea how that stuff smells to me?" 

Blair allowed himself to smile, "No - but I know how it smells to an ordinary nose - and I wouldn't put a curse like that onto my best friend. All the more reason to let me try. Please, Jim. If it turns out I can't help, what have you lost, eh? You'll have plenty of time after this week to be as disappointed as you like. In the meantime, just try to relax." 

"Relax?" Jim shook his head slowly. "Sure. That's easy. And how exactly do you propose I do that?" 

"Well," Blair pondered for a moment. "I know a place where you can get a great massage. The guy used to be a wrestler. I don't go anywhere near as often as I'd like to. Then, we could go somewhere nice and quiet, down by the waterfront. There are a few restaurants down there which do great seafood. I could meet you there after your massage and we could talk some more, maybe you could tell me about the problems you've been having." 

Jim was watching him, something akin to a smile playing about his eyes. Blair continued, barely pausing long enough to take a breath. "And then tomorrow morning, we could go back to your beach at Katong and do a few distance tests. I need to gather as much information as possible before I can formulate any theories. And then, in the afternoon, for relaxation, you can come with me to Barney's picnic." 

Giving him half a laugh, Jim shook his head again, "Who's Barney?" 

"Huh? Oh, Barney Goldman - he's Annabelle's cousin." 

Now Jim actually smiled. "And - who is Annabelle?" 

"Oh, sorry," Blair chuckled, "she's the woman you said was beautiful. In the Tiffin Room yesterday? Her cousin Barney is a member of the country club on the southwest coast of the island. A few of us are having a picnic there for lunch tomorrow." 

"The idle rich?" If Jim was mocking him, he was doing it very gently. 

"Some of them are idle, some less so. So? What do you say?" Blair knew he was pushing, knew he probably shouldn't - but simply couldn't help himself. He simply couldn't bring himself to let go of this. Of this man. 

Just couldn't. 

Jim took in a long breath, but let it out without a sigh, "Well, the massage sounds good. So does dinner - but I can't say I'm thrilled about the interrogation. The beach is a good place to work, I suppose. But the picnic? Well, I don't know these friends of yours and to be honest, I just don't have the wardrobe to go socializing. Simon would kill me." 

"Well, if that's all you're worried about, I can fix that without a problem." 

"You're not going to lend me your clothes are you?" Jim replied with a grin. "Chief, I hate to say it but we're not exactly the same size here, you know?" 

"I did notice that - but Singapore is famous for one thing above all else - its tailors. Come on, I know a man who can put together a suit for you before the picnic tomorrow. We can go see him right now. Then I'll send you off for your massage while I do a few hours in the library. You'll be ready for dinner by the time you're done." Blair got to his feet, barely containing his excitement. 

But Jim didn't move, his eyes going dark. "Look, this is a great plan, Chief, but I'm not exactly loaded. I can't afford a massage, dinner and a suit." 

"You may not be loaded, Jim, but I am. More money than I know what to do with." 

"No." 

Blair knew what was coming - but decided to cut through it all before the breeze could gust into a storm. He stepped around the table and pulled up a chair close to Jim, letting his voice cover his own agitation. "Jim, listen to me. This is a two-way street, here. Yeah, I'm trying to help you - but I'm also going to study you. I know you don't want to hear this, but you are different, unique, very special. I'm an anthropologist, trained to study people just like you. You know when Carter discovered Tutankamen's tomb at Luxor? Well, you rank right up there with him. Now, I'll never make any money from this, never use your name or anything, but I want to do the work, okay? Need to. This is exactly _why_ I got into this stuff. I can write a couple of papers that will set the academic world on its ear - and nobody will know it was you I was talking about. As far as I'm concerned, that's worth a massage, dinner and a suit. A hell of a lot more, too, since you ask. I just suggested all this because I was trying to get you to relax, to feel comfortable about doing this work - but I can just as easily leave the Raffles behind and go stay in your kampong if that's what you want. And even if I never write a word about this, I _do_ want to help you. Okay?" 

He hadn't realized he was talking with his hands until Jim caught them with his own. His heart skipped a beat then continued on as though nothing had happened. 

Eventually, Jim let him go and nodded, "Yeah, okay. I'm sorry." 

"Nothing to apologize for." Blair managed, forcing himself to stand up. That brief touch had rattled something fundamental inside him. "So, what's it to be?" 

Jim climbed to his feet, a slightly amazed and slightly dazed look on his face. "Hell, Chief, when you get going, there's no stopping you, is there?" 

"I hope not." 

That made the man laugh and Blair relaxed inside. It was going to be just fine. 

"Yeah, okay, okay, Chief. Suit, massage, dinner, beach and picnic. In that order." 

"Great." Blair grinned. "Let's go." 

[Continued in part two](prison_a.html).


	2. Chapter 2

Due to length, this story has been split into five parts.

## Prison

by Jack Reuben Darcy

Author's homepage: <http://internetdump.com/users/angiet/>

Disclaimer and notes can be found in part one. 

* * *

Prison - Part two  
By Jack Reuben Darcy 

A hazy moon left a rippling pattern across the river mouth, where it met the sea. Waves broke against the outflowing water, tingling white lines which dipped and vanished in the inky swell. Every now and then, a sampan would drift across the view and Jim would watch it, see the odd inverted triangle sail snap against the breeze, the bow take each drift of water, move with it and along it. An endless seam, unbroken and undivided. 

It _was_ peaceful here. Not quiet, as Blair had promised - but peaceful \- and it felt better. 

Hundreds of long narrow boats crowded the sides of the river, tied to each other, a floating city of its own making. Blair had told him how close-knit this community was, how occasionally a western criminal would try to hide in this place - and fail. Everybody knew everybody else, they virtually lived in each other's pockets, would certainly hear each other's fights, know enough to step in or stay back. A community based on mutual trust, mutual dependence; those living on the outermost sampans needed those closer to the bank for access. Give and take. 

He learned a lot about communities over dinner. Chilli crab. Blair had tried to insist he try it - but the very idea of attempting something he knew at the outset was going to burn the inside of his mouth like a blowtorch, was more than he could contemplate. So he'd stuck with shrimp and fish - and enjoyed watching Blair crack open the crab shell, poke around for flesh inside, then pop it into his mouth. The expressions which flitted across his face as he ate and spoke were myriad, each filled with the same lust for life the young man seemed to apply to everything. 

He was a joy to watch, to listen to, yes, even to believe in. Not that Jim had left his doubts behind - but simply being with Blair was so intoxicating, he couldn't bring himself to walk away. Spending an entire day with him had so far been well, wonderful was the only word that came to him. 

He'd spent a whole day memorizing that scent, that voice, every movement within that body - and while guilt nagged at him as he was doing it, what did it matter? As long as he never did anything about it. 

Blair talked. A lot. About so many different things. And he knew stuff, so much of it. How one human brain could hold so many incredible facts, eluded Jim. But coming from anyone else, the words would have come out dry and dull - but Blair had him alternating between smiling and laughing, listening and frowning - and always totally captivated. 

They sat on the deck of a typical sampan, the kitchen way up the other end. A wooden shelter stood over the centre where other patrons enjoyed the night - but Jim and Blair sat out in the open, watching the sea, eating and yes, relaxing. 

The massage had been great. Blair certainly hadn't lied about that. Jim had lain on the marble and let himself be pummelled into a huge lump of jellied muscle. Then he'd spent half an hour in the sauna, trying to gather up the strength to make himself walk to a shower. Then there was the shave, the manicure and the haircut - and Blair appeared with a new shirt and trousers for him, neatly altered from the measurements the tailor had taken earlier. The suit would be ready by mid morning tomorrow. 

It was odd, but Jim now knew how a leaf felt when swept up in the force of a flood. Blair was a monsoon of enthusiasm all on his own - and Jim was helpless to resist him. Nor was he inclined to try. There was something very easing about handing responsibility over to another person, especially when that person seemed happy to take it. Jim needed help - Blair wanted to help. Easy. Uncomplicated. 

Okay, so he _had_ relaxed - hadn't that been the point of all this? 

"Nice view, isn't it?" 

Jim glanced at Blair and nodded, "Very - but to be honest, I've seen better." 

"Singapore still too much of a city for you? Or the harbour too full of ships?" 

"Something like that." 

"I still find it amazing how quickly it grew from virtually nothing." Blair waved his hand to indicate the whole of the island. "Stamford Raffles came here in 1819 and convinced the British Government to turn the place into a full-blown colony, using it as a base for shipping and trade in the east. Five years after he started, the population on the island went from something like one hundred and fifty - to ten thousand. It's been growing ever since. The legend is it got it's name from a 14th century Sri Vijayan prince who thought he saw a lion here. Gave it the name Singa Pura - which means Lion City. Other legends grew up around that story, something like the population. I wrote an article on it when I first got here." 

Jim shook his head, smiling a little, "For some reason, I'm not remotely surprised." 

"Oh, sorry, I'm doing it again, aren't I?" 

"Like I said, I don't mind." 

Blair had finished his crab and now washed his hands in a bowl of water, dried them on a fold of cloth. He sat like Jim, cross-legged on a cushion, the low table before them filled with emptied dishes. "You never told me why you left your village in Burma." 

"You never asked why I went there in the first place." 

A smile lit Blair's eyes but his voice remained serious, "Tell me." 

"It's not much of a story. I suppose I kind of got shipwrecked there. Ran out of money. The villagers were prepared to feed me in exchange for work - I was happy to stay." 

"Why?" 

Jim took in a breath and leaned back against the side of the boat, "It was quiet there. Simple. For a long time, I could forget there was anything wrong. I could be ..." 

"Normal?" 

"Yeah." Jim tossed another glance at him but there was no mockery in those eyes. He continued, "For the first year, I actually managed to convince myself that the visions and things had gone away. I determined never to leave the place if that was the case, believed there was, I don't know, perhaps something in the water. But then it started happening again. There was a Buddhist monk living in a hermitage on top of a nearby hill. I found myself talking to him one day. He was a very strange man, talked about all sorts of things, one after another, a lot of them not making much sense. A bit like you, come to think of it." 

He was rewarded with a full smile and a nod for him to go on. 

"I don't really remember telling him what was happening, but he offered to help. So I would climb up there every evening, after I'd finished working and we'd talk. He tried to teach me to meditate but I simply couldn't shut out the noises I heard. He taught me breathing exercises and lots of stuff about feeling energy flows and where the centre of my universe is. I didn't understand half of what he said - and to be honest, it didn't make much difference. Things just got worse and I ..." 

"Got more depressed?" 

Jim paused, reaching for his glass of orange juice. "He called me a guardian." 

Something like awe appeared in Blair's eyes as he thought about this. He was actually silent for at least a full minute - before speaking again. "And you connected being called a guardian with me calling you a sentinel? Is that why you ran off?" 

Jim let out an ironic laugh, hiding the truth beneath it. "That's right." 

An unreadable expression filled Blair's face then - and Jim wished he could read it, wished he could know and understand everything about this complex personality, the one which seemed to have such a power over him. So many times the sound of that voice had been enough to calm him, the light in that smile, enough to make him stay. 

"So, why did you leave?" 

"Burma?" 

"Yeah, Burma." 

"People started to look at me strangely, treat me differently." 

"How?" 

"Hell, I don't know. Like I was some sort of ..." Jim paused, frowning. He hated thinking about this. "Like I wasn't normal any more. The more they treated me differently, the worse my senses got. I had to leave." 

"And you came here?" 

"A series of boats and ships. On the last, I met Rukit. We became friends on the trip and he offered a bed in his house in return for help with his grandchildren. Both his wife and the children's mother are dead. There is only his son and him. I keep an eye on the youngest when it's needed, do a few chores around the place, try to be useful." 

"But the trouble with your senses hasn't gone away?" 

Jim let out a long breath. It wouldn't do any good letting himself get all tense again. "No." 

Blair began to say something - but interrupted himself with a huge yawn. Jim laughed and Blair tried to apologize. "Sorry, it's been a long day. All that walking and talking." 

"I can see why you'd be tired." 

There was again, that pale shadow in Blair's eyes when he said that, the same he'd seen each time he made a reference to the man's incredible knowledge. What was causing it? Did he really believe he was boring Jim? 

"Yeah, I am tired." Blair lifted a shoulder, as though he didn't care much, one way or the other. As though there was a pain there, buried deep, that he could only acknowledge as he dismissed it. 

Jim wished he had the courage to ask. 

Instead, he glanced once more at the moonlight on the water, "Then I think it's time we got going, don't you?" 

And just like that, the tension was back in the air. Questions asked and unanswered, things spoken silently and ignored. 

Hell, what would he do? What would he say if Blair actually ... no, he wouldn't. He was an innocent, unafraid perhaps, but ultimately unknowing. And he couldn't be interested in Jim that way. Simply couldn't. 

And yet, yesterday morning, Jim had been so sure, sitting on that rock. So sure that whatever it was he was feeling was shared by the other man. 

But then, Blair had been with that woman, hadn't he? She'd kissed him \- on the lips? In front of everyone? And Blair hadn't been bothered by it - so it was obviously something that happened regularly. So Blair was interested in women, wasn't he? Yes, he had to be. And what he was being offered here was help and friendship, nothing else. 

"Jim?" 

He snapped his gaze back - only to see all his fears and rationalizations fold together into one sharp point. Terror gripped his stomach, battling against what he wanted so much and could not bring himself to ask for. 

It was wrong. It would always be wrong. Unnatural. Two men were not supposed to be together in that way. They just weren't. No good could ever come of it. It was just some sick perversion he had created for himself, probably something to do with his damned senses. If he could cure one, he knew he would cure the other. Never have to worry again about being alone with Blair. Never have to sit here looking at him like this, wanting more than anything to say the words which remained in his throat, all the wonderful, delightful things he needed to say to the man who watched him steadily. 

Wrong. Unnatural. Jim was sick; a disgusting example of manhood. How could he want to have this glorious creature involved in such depravity? His soul would surely roast in hell - if he believed in such a thing. 

But all the names he could call himself did nothing to cool the heat burning his face, to still the blood raging through his veins. He could scent Blair over the smells of cooking and seafood, the salty water beneath them. Hell, he'd scented Blair amidst a market filled with confusion. He'd called it soap - and Blair had believed him. 

"Jim? Are you okay?" 

The chaos inside him stilled, as though shut behind a mighty lead door. In the abrupt silence, Jim glanced down to see Blair's hand resting on his. Without thinking, he turned his fingers until they caught those of the other man. He lifted the palm to the moonlight, felt it tremble in his grasp. He drew one finger along the cool flesh, from knuckle to wrist, testing and touching, feeling every indentation, every soft pad, every thread of the hard pulse. It was beautiful, this hand, like everything else about Blair, beautiful inside and out, in ways and places its owner would never understand. 

And that was it, really. Blair would never understand. But Jim did. All too well. He knew exactly what he wanted from this man - and it would destroy them both. 

He let go, allowing his gaze to meet those dark blue eyes, hoping that somehow, Blair _would_ understand, would not hate him for feeling this way, would not despise him for a wanting he struggled so hard to control. He'd been lost for so long. He wanted to be found. But not this way. Not in a way that would leave him hating himself for the rest of his life. 

He'd never once given in to the temptation and, sorely tested as he was right now, he would not do so tonight. 

"I'm fine. Tired." His words came out like gravel, harsh and sharp. He tried to smile an apology, but it didn't seem to work because Blair only frowned. There was no way of telling what he was thinking - but he said nothing. 

Instead, he got to his feet and worked his way to the end of the boat. He handed some bills over to the cook and led the way back to the bank. When they reached the road, Blair made straight for one of the taxis waiting in line for the western patrons to go back to the city. He ducked his head into an open window, spoke to the driver and handed over more cash. Only then did he turn and face Jim. 

"I've booked him to pick us up in the morning, to go and collect your suit." 

Jim said nothing, wishing he had the courage to say no, wishing he had the courage to say yes. 

"You can shower and change in my room, before the picnic." Blair paused a moment, obviously wanting to say something else. Then he shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged, "Sorry, I guess I am tired. Lost my sparkling wit all of a sudden. Anyway, I think we should start early tomorrow. Just after dawn? I'll meet you on the beach, near those rocks, if that's okay?" 

"Fine." Jim murmured, unable to fathom this abrupt change in Blair's mood. Had he said something wrong? Done something? 

"Well, there's your taxi. I'll see you tomorrow." 

"What about you? How are you getting home?" 

"Oh, I think I'll walk for a bit, work that crab off before I try to sleep. Goodnight, Jim." 

He had turned and was already disappearing up the road before Jim could reply. 

* * *

Blair was beginning to hate the sound of Jimmy Dorsey arrangements. For the fifth night in a row, he lay on his bed, trying to shut out the orchestra playing below, the noise of the dinner guests, the hum of the fan over his head. Just shut it out. 

But he'd never been able to shut it out. He'd only ever been able to run away from it, go and find another place where it wouldn't matter, where nobody knew, perhaps even where nobody cared. A series of stopovers, one after another, no one leaving more of a trace on him than any other. It was a big world. He could roam like this for the rest of his life and never come to the end of it. 

Never return home. 

Odd to think he'd sat there yesterday afternoon, reading those legal documents with Crimpton, detailing his inheritance without once remembering what they really meant - or the man who had set them in motion in the first place. Jacob Sandburg was considered by many to be a great man, a great philanthropist, a substantial historian. And yet, at heart, he was as black as hell and twice as dark. Twisted with hatred at a world that had given him an illegitimate grandson and a daughter who simply would not be repentant. 

Sure, they'd hushed up the scandal, made out that Naomi had married some European man of no family and some little wealth. Not once had she told Blair who his father really was. But Naomi being Naomi, Blair had long since stopped wondering if she even knew. 

And now old Jacob smelt age haunting him, had wanted to 'provide' for the offspring of his wayward daughter in a way that would never embarrass him or his family. Blair would get his share of his inheritance now - on the condition that he never return to the States ever again. 

He wasn't wanted, wasn't needed. Wasn't accepted. 

Never that. God forbid they might love him, at least enough to accept him as he was! 

But it seemed even love had a price - and the gossip had flown through the family so quickly. For a time, Blair had hoped they might accept him, might love him regardless - but he'd been young and naive then, and the lessons he'd learnt at the tender age of sixteen when his grandfather had thrown him out of the house still haunted him to this day. 

Why did it matter so much to them? Or was it just an excuse to get back at him because of the accident of his birth? As long as he behaved himself, didn't suggest anything untoward about his 'missing' father, didn't step out of line, didn't turn a hair on his head. 

Didn't become anything but the person they wanted him to be. 

Except that he wasn't that person. He never had been. Sure, they'd tolerated his studies, allowed him to follow a path in academia rather than pursue the family business - but that was acceptable. Unusual for a boy with his background, perhaps - but nothing they couldn't deal with. Some of them had even suggested they'd always expected him to become a learned man - and again, he'd been naive enough to believe them. 

But every one of those cousins and aunts and uncles had betrayed him that day. Every single one had turned their backs on him without a word, condoning the abandonment of a boy barely old enough to know what the world outside was like. Even worse, they'd chosen a moment when Naomi had been away, on another of her trips to Europe. Not there to defend her son, they had struck, calling him all the vile names they could think of, never giving a damn how they hurt him, how they scarred him. 

Jacob Sandburg would die one day and they would be left with themselves and the bigoted hatred they lashed out at anybody who was not normal. Even if it was one of their own. They hadn't even left him with that; a shred of loyalty. 

So he would take the money. Take it and spend it. Spend it gleefully. Waste it, even. Better still, spend it on Jim. Share it with him. Spread a little joy around with it to undo the fear and loathing it was tied up with. 

And one day, when he finally found a man to share his life with, when he'd put the money in a whole pile of places they would never get their hands on, he would return home and tell them what they'd done to him. Force them to accept him - or accept the public attention he would focus on them by selling his story - his _whole_ story to a newspaper. 

Let them understand what shame really meant. Let them know how it felt to have their entire world reject them because of something they had no control over. Let them feel it. 

Let them see that their own vile hatred had brought them to this point. 

Blackmail? No, not really. Revenge, certainly not. 

Justice? Absolutely. 

* * *

It came out of the darkness at him, black and reeking with danger. Long claws, fangs, colourless eyes holding him, turning him to stone. Frozen, immobile. Stopped. Ended. 

Icy wind whispered across him, snow falling in tremulous icicles, pitting the ground beneath his feet. More stone. Marble, colours swirling in the haze, a mist seeping from trees within the jungle. 

The animal prowled around him, baring its teeth, snarling, perching as though it would spring at him, tear his throat out. One touch of its breath upon his skin and the ice melted. He moved, stepped back. The animal followed him. 

Blind instinct made him panic. He ran. Blindly. Ran. 

The animal kept up with him, loping through the jungle at his side, never out of breath, never slowing. Finally he stopped. The animal grazed around his legs again before sitting. It's head lifted. 

"You do not belong here." 

The words made no sense; they came from this beast and yet the sound was all around him. 

"You do not belong." 

Again he ran. Ran and ran, leaving the animal far behind him. Drained, exhausted, his lungs burning for air, he fell to his knees, hands digging into the moist sodden jungle floor. Every grain of dirt bit into his skin, drawing blood. 

"You do not belong." 

Pain. 

Pain. 

Pain woke Jim up, heart pounding, body sweating. He didn't move. Just lay on his back, looking up to the dark attap roof. 

Slowly, as he calmed, he carefully catalogued the noises around him - but all seemed normal. He'd not woken anyone this time. It must be early as not even Rukit was up yet. Should he try to get back to sleep? 

No. Not tonight. 

Carefully, he rolled out of bed, pulling clothes on, flinching as his wounded hands touched suddenly coarse material. Slipping out of the house in silence, he made his morning journey down to the stream. Only when he was there, with his hands plunged beneath the water, did the pain finally stop. 

* * *

"Hey, Chief!" Jim breathed as they got out of the taxi. "I'm not so sure about this." 

He stood and waited for the other man to join him, gazing across at the manicured lawns, the carefully planted trees and stately presence of the Sands Country Club. The enormous building looked like the heart of the empire, tall and white, stretching across the top of a hill overlooking both gardens and the sea. Beyond the lawns were tennis courts, netted fences surrounding them. To his right, he could see the corner of the golf course. 

"Don't be too impressed, Jim," Blair smiled, nudging his elbow. "This is what the idle rich do when they're being idle. They play games. Actually, I think they do pretty much the same when they're not being idle - only the games are nowhere near as serious as these. Do you play tennis?" 

"Occasionally." 

"Well, perhaps we could have a game tomorrow." 

Jim glanced down at him, "I don't have tennis clothes, Chief - and no, you're not buying me any, either." 

Blair just shrugged, "Come on. Barney's this way." 

They walked down the slope away from the clubhouse, along a sandy path until they reached tall trees, thick with the scents of the east. Very quickly, Jim picked up the sounds of voices, laughter, the accents mostly English. They emerged from the trees to find another lawned area scattered with bright blankets, some tables and a host of elegant people, dressed mainly in white. The men were resplendent in summer suits, much like the new one Jim was wearing. The women all wore gauzy, floating dresses, huge straw hats protecting their faces from the sun. More than a few turned at their approach. 

"Why, Blair darling, you're here at last!" A woman gushed and almost threw herself at Blair, pulling him into an intimate embrace. Jim recognized her - Annabelle, a face with the beauty of delicate porcelain, a voice like velvet. Blair kissed her in return and Jim nodded to himself. Yes, Blair was interested in women - so Jim was safe. Safe from the attraction of Blair - perhaps even safe from himself. Perhaps this picnic wouldn't be so bad after all. 

"Anna, this is a friend of mine, Jim Ellison. Please, try to be nice to him?" 

"Oh, darling, you are such a tease. Of course, I'll be nice to him. Especially as he's so handsome. Nice to meet you, Jimmy. Champagne?" 

Blair was watching him, slightly wary, slightly afraid for him - but Jim suddenly felt more relaxed today than he'd been in a long time. He gave Blair a smile and turned to the beautiful woman. "No, thank you, I don't drink." 

"Don't drink? Do you hear that, Barney? What a paragon!" Annabelle almost snuggled up to him, "I admire strength of character in a man. Come with me. I will find you the most delicious drink you can possibly imagine. They make it here just for me. Papaya and lime. All grown locally. In a tall glass. Barney? Will you do the honours?" 

Jim allowed himself to be dragged away from Blair, feeling comforted by the low laughter of the other man. Annabelle fussed over him, her hands never far from him, giving him a drink, pressing a plate of food into his hands. Conversation rippled around him, bits and pieces he could only latch onto for a moment before Annabelle dragged his attention away again. 

There were about twenty of them in all, either seated or standing around, drinking and enjoying themselves. All very relaxed, all welcoming Jim into their midst as though he truly belonged. He answered each question posed to him, but there was no real interrogation going on, as though they were only interested in him if he had something interesting to say. No, most of their attention was focussed on Blair - and Jim found himself watching from the fringes, Annabelle never far from his side. 

It was strange, but Blair was different in this company. A little less frenetic, more composed, mirroring the elegance surrounding him as though it were a mask he wore. But he did it so easily, Jim began to wonder if this was the real Blair Sandburg, rather than the one he'd worked with on the beach that morning. 

With his feet sinking into the sand, Blair had pushed him again and again, to hear and see and smell things further and further away, his eyes bright with excitement, his hands forever scribbling things in his leather-bound notebook, virtually ignoring every protest Jim made. They'd worked for two hours before Blair had finally decided they needed breakfast, taking him back to Orchard Road market for some local fare. Then they'd collected his new suit and gone back to the Raffles where Jim had showered and changed. 

But in essence, it had been Blair who had changed. He now sat on a tartan blanket, the sun behind him, conversing quietly about some violent incident in Chinatown last night, hand gestures kept to a minimum, only sparing the odd glance for Jim. And his voice was different, too. Older, almost. There was very little of the enthusiastic kid for Jim to recognize. 

"And you don't think it's going to make a difference?" Barney, their host was asking - and Jim had to concentrate to pick up the thread of the subject. "I'm mean, old chum, we are talking a damned lot of money, here. I can't see the Jerries just shrugging off a massive debt like that - certainly not enough to invade Poland." 

"They've already taken back the Rhineland - not to mention Czechoslovakia," another man, Rafe, added, also turning to Blair. "The question is, how long will it take Hitler to push his luck and march on Poland?" 

"Oh, you're not going to talk war again, are you?" Annabelle moaned, rolling beautiful green eyes at Jim, as though including him on her side. "Don't you fellows think about anything else these days? Heavens, if it's not Germany, it's Spain." 

"Well, cousin," Barney replied, "you might want to know how it started when your lovely home in Dorset gets bombed flat. Really, Anna, this isn't a game, you know. These things are actually happening." 

"Yes, but they're so far away! Blair, sweetie, please, make them change the subject?" 

Blair simply shook his head, glancing up at Barney, "No, I don't think Germany's debt is going to make any difference at all. Hitler has already used it as a means to fire up his people." 

"How? I mean, they're all so bloody poor. How can they want another war? How is that going to help them?" 

Jim heard the silence surrounding this question, as all those listening waited for Blair to speak. 

The young man's gaze was solemn as he sat back on his hands, stretching his legs out before him. "The Germans see themselves as a subjugated people, under the rule of foreign powers since the Great War. Put yourselves in their place. Would _you_ want to live like that?" 

"But..." 

"There will be a war, Barney. Nobody can stop it. At least, not now. The time for that was about ten years ago. We've been making Germany suffer for the last war for twenty years. How long are they supposed to pay? The young people in that country were born after their fathers committed those crimes - and yet, they're expected to atone for sins they had no hand in." 

"You're on _their_ side?" A woman to Blair's left asked, horrified. 

"No, of course not!" Blair snapped, eliciting more than one gasp of surprise. "Hitler is a monster in the making - but I'm not going to sit here and tell you the entire population of Germany is cast in his mould." 

"Especially," Rafe added, his voice gentle, "considering some of the stories I keep hearing about the way Jews are being treated by Hitler." 

Blair glanced up at that, his gaze softening in gratitude. "Yeah, exactly." 

"Well, would you fight?" Barney asked Blair first, then turned to the rest of the men. "If there is a war, who would join up? Blair?" 

The young man shook his head, reaching up to tuck a wayward lock back into its tie. "Never." 

"Why not? Especially if Rafe's right about the Jews." 

Blair met the gaze levelly, "I know what's happening over there and yes, I hate it more than you could imagine - but I simply don't believe going to war is the best way to stop it. Causing carnage to stop imprisonment is not a solution." 

"I would join up," Rafe added, getting to his feet. "My father fought in the last war. He'd never let me stay home when the party was going on across the water." 

"It won't be a party." 

Jim was shocked to hear the words come out of his own mouth, almost as shocked as the faces which turned towards him. The need, the compulsion to explain was almost overwhelming, especially when he felt Blair's eyes on him. 

"I was in the army," he added, his voice quiet. "I'd just joined up when my unit was sent to Germany, to help clean up after the fighting stopped. Your fathers fought in that war, they would have told you what it was like in the trenches. You should listen to them." 

"But the glory of fighting for one's country," Rafe attempted - but Jim didn't let him get any further. 

"There's nothing glorious about getting both your legs blown off, of lying in a muddy field bleeding to death, thousands of miles from those you love, knowing they'll never know what happened to you." Jim took a deep breath, unable to shake loose the images which filled his head, images which had haunted him every day for the last twenty years. "Do you have any idea how many soldiers were buried without names? How many were killed? How many are crippled to this day? Don't wish for a war to come - but if it does, don't think there'll be anything glorious about it. Fight if you must, but don't be so blinded you can't see what's really going on. That's the best way to end up dead. Just ask the men who fought at Gallipoli." 

Rafe said nothing else and Jim found his gaze going back to Blair. Huge blue eyes were watching him, the suggestion of a smile in them - and something else. Understanding, perhaps, possibly even compassion. But \- also pride and respect. 

Jim found his face smiling, found Blair grinning back at him - and then some one made some perfectly frivolous comment which gave everybody the chance to laugh, to ease the tension, to change the subject. 

Blair's attention was dragged away from him almost immediately and Jim missed it for a moment - until Annabelle caught up with him again. 

"Why, Jimmy, you never said you were an officer. You must have looked so dashing in your uniform." Her laughter was like sunshine and Jim was happy to stand at her urging. Even though she was so flighty she hadn't really listened to a word he'd said - he didn't really mind. She was distracting and right now, that was good. 

"Have you seen the floral gardens?" Annabelle asked, tucking her hand in the crook of his arm. "You really should see them. They're a delight. Come, do let me show you." 

Jim allowed himself to be led and entertained and charmed. Soon, the others were well behind them as Annabelle took him along one path after another, stopping and pointing out unusual tropical plants in the carefully manicured gardens. Her conversation was delightful and Jim had no choice but to smile at so much of what she said. In her own way, she was almost as entertaining to be with as Blair. And she was a woman. A beautiful woman. 

A woman who flirted openly with him, had not taken her hands from his arm and who took every opportunity to brush some part of her body against his. 

Jim found no trouble at all smiling at her. She was lovely. And when she brought him to a halt beneath a tall tree with odd fan-shaped leaves and turned to look at him, an invitation in her eyes, he did what he knew she was waiting for him to do. He kissed her. 

A brief kiss. Soft and yielding. She leaned into him, asking for more and again, he followed. 

But it didn't last long. Less than a few moments. Enough to make her smile with pretty satisfaction. Enough to scare him. 

Nothing. He felt nothing. No, he did feel something - something wrong. 

Suddenly it felt wrong to be kissing a woman. 

"Come, Jimmy," Annabelle didn't seem to notice anything in his face and for that he was grateful. "The flower gardens are just around this corner. The scents are absolutely fabulous." 

And without a word, he followed again. 

* * *

By the time Blair looked around, Jim was already walking away, Annabelle attached to him like a limpet shell. Jim didn't appear concerned in any way so Blair let them go, trying not to notice the vague pang of jealousy the sight of them together engendered in him. 

Annabelle was a flirt, there was no doubt about it. She was demanding and vivacious and could be the most wonderful company for anybody feeling a little down. She was also perhaps one of the most genuinely kind people Blair had ever met. 

Even so, that didn't stop him hating her a little as he watched her disappear, taking Jim away from him. He'd wanted to show Jim the floral gardens himself, perhaps do a few more tests, see how he reacted to so many stimuli in one go. 

No, maybe it was better that Anna do it. Jim would relax more in the company of a beautiful woman and - perhaps something might develop between them. Jim certainly seemed to like her - Annabelle was very likeable. Blair had remained friends with her long after their brief affair had ended. Jim was in very good hands. 

The jealousy flared up strong and hard for a moment, but like a good child, he turned from it, splicing himself back into the conversation without turning a hair. 

He should have known this would happen, some time. That he might fall for somebody he could never have. Last night ... 

Jim had held his hand, had touched it like a lover would, making Blair tremble, making him want. Those pale blue eyes had gazed at him, so full of need, so full of conflict. 

Though not a word had been spoken, he _knew_ Jim wanted him. But the man was afraid. Perhaps he was just governed by the storms of his senses \- but Blair wasn't so sure any more. Not so sure that there wasn't more to it. 

Jim had never been with a man before. Blair knew that look, had seen it more than once. Jim was afraid of his senses, but more, he was afraid of what he was feeling, afraid of what he wanted. Worse still, Blair could do nothing to change that, nothing to ease that fear other than what he was already doing. Nothing. Nothing but make Jim confident that Blair would never make the first move. Let Jim learn to trust him, let Jim believe he could help with the senses. Let him regain some lost ground. 

Let him take what he needed before he moved on. And Jim would move on. He wouldn't stick around long enough to find out that what he wanted was the same thing Blair wanted. 

But what exactly was that? Just sex? 

No more? 

Well, it was a sure thing Jim didn't want more. If merely the thought of sleeping with Blair terrified him so, what would a real relationship do to him? Love. This world simply would not accommodate anything like that - and Jim wanted so much to be normal. 

But Jim Ellison was anything but normal - and never would be. He would go through the rest of his life aching to be something that would always be beyond him. He would hate himself, punish himself, carve himself away from society all because he believed he didn't belong. 

Blair wouldn't pretend for one moment that he had an answer. After all, didn't he live the same lie, himself? 

"Blair? Blair, honey?" 

He looked up to find Annabelle walking quickly towards him, trying to keep her voice low - while calling to him. She appeared very agitated. Hardly anybody else noticed when Blair got up and met her half-way. "What is it?" 

"Jimmy. I fear something must have happened to him." Annabelle took his arm, her eyes wide with concern. "We were just looking at the flowers and he just ..." 

Blair was already striding down the path, out of sight of the others. "What happened?" 

"He just ... I don't know, Blair, he scared me. I can't get him to say a word. He won't move." Annabelle stopped and pointed. 

Jim sat on a bench, in the shade of a huge pine tree. All around him were tall bushes blanketed in enormous pink flowers, reaching out to the sun. 

The man didn't move a muscle as Blair approached. "Jim?" 

Jim's eyes were closed. Blair stopped before him, feeling Annabelle hover over his shoulder. He turned, giving her a smile of encouragement. "It's okay, Anna, he'll be fine. Just let me talk to him, okay? You go back and join the others. We'll be there in a minute." 

"If you're sure?" She looked doubtful but obviously concerned enough to trust him. 

"Go," Blair urged gently. She nodded and turned, leaving him alone with Jim. 

Moving carefully, Blair sat on the bench beside him, studying the perfectly immobile form, watching the chest until he was sure he could see it moving to breathe. Right, so he's not in any danger or anything. Okay. But what was he to do? Jim was oblivious to everything that was going on around him. He was somewhere else. But where? 

And why? 

This had to have something to do with his senses! Was this one of the problems he'd never spoken about? But what exactly was happening here? 

"Jim? Can you hear me?" Now that was pretty dumb. If Jim could say he heard Blair, would he be sitting there like a Michelangelo statue? Think, Sandburg, think! 

Okay. "Jim, I don't know if you can hear what I'm saying, but I want you to try. Just try to listen to my voice, okay? Now, you're not in any danger. You've got nothing to worry about. Nobody can see us, nobody can hear us. You're perfectly safe." 

Good start. Next? 

"Um, Jim," Blair scooted a little closer, keeping his voice level, "just keep listening to me. I'm right here, sitting next to you. And I'm gonna touch your shoulder, here, okay? It's just me, Blair. You're okay and I'm just going to put my hand on your shoulder." Very carefully, Blair reached up and placed his hand on the cool cotton of Jim's shoulder. When he got no reaction, he squeezed a little. Still nothing. 

Hell! What was he to do next? 

"Come on, Jim, talk to me. You're scaring me, here. Come back to me." Without thinking, he reached out with his other hand and took Jim's, gripping firmly. "Please, Jim," he whispered, his head leaning against Jim's shoulder, "I don't know how to ..." 

Something moved. Blair snapped his head up and watched, open mouthed. Jim's eyes flickered open, seeing nothing at first. Then he took in a huge breath, blinking slowly, focussing. 

"That's it, Jim!" Blair began to breathe himself, relief flooding every part of him. "Hey, are you okay?" 

Completely back now, Jim turned and looked at him, frowning, confused. "Blair? What are you ..." The confusion vanished, replaced instantly by a mist of agony filling his eyes. "Shit!" 

"It's okay, Jim, really it is. Nobody but Anna noticed. And you're out of it now, aren't you?" 

"Out of what?" Jim's words came clipped and angry, anger directed towards himself, along with bitter hatred. "Hell! Blair ... I ..." Abruptly, he glanced down, noticing that Blair still held his hand. He made no move to let go. "How did you ..." 

"Not sure," Blair murmured. If only Jim wouldn't shift away, if only he would keep hold of Blair's hand. "I just talked to you and ..." 

"How long was I out?" 

"Maybe five minutes. No more." 

"Thank god." He closed his eyes a moment, pulling air into him as though it would provide salvation. "Chief, do me a favour?" 

"Anything." 

"Get me out of here. If these things last more than a few seconds, they're always followed by a terrible headache. If I don't move soon, I'm going to fall over." 

* * *

Jim could hardly walk on his own by the time Blair got him back to the Raffles. Blair had his arm around him as they climbed the stairs, all the while, speaking to him softly, encouraging him to hold on just a bit longer. 

Blair almost dropped his keys in his haste to get the door open. But the room on the other side was cool and dark, the heavy curtains drawn against the heat. Flipping the fan on as he went, Blair took Jim to the bed, helped him lie down. 

The older man let out a groan as his head hit the pillow. 

"Damn, Jim, I'm sorry. You'd better drink something. I'll get you some water." 

"No," Jim hissed, one arm up to cover his eyes. "Stay here a minute, will you? Just ... keep still." 

"Uh, okay." Blair knelt by the bed, settling back on his heels. He couldn't see much of Jim's face - but it had been grey in the taxi. They'd had to wait more than ten minutes for one to pick him up. Damn, but he should have bought a car months ago! 

"Chief?" The voice was strained, quiet. 

"Yeah?" 

"You know how you got me out of it?" 

"Yeah?" 

"I need to sleep now. Have to. Only way to get rid of this headache. Sorry." 

"That's okay." 

"Could you ... do what you did before? To help me get to sleep?" 

Blair blinked, holding his breath for a moment. Had it worked? Whatever he'd done - based purely on instinct - Jim seemed to think it had worked. 

So how long did these blackouts normally go on for? 

He heard Jim take a breath to say something else, but Blair forestalled him. "Yeah, okay, I can do that. Just shift over a little will you, so I can sit?" 

Stifling another moan, Jim moved to give Blair enough space to sit. Once settled, he took Jim's other hand in his own again, and began to talk, softly, quietly, about nothing in particular. Gradually, he found his words follow his instincts again, repeating more and more, assurances that Jim was safe, that he just had to listen. 

And then Jim was asleep. Just like that. 

* * *

A rumble of thunder echoed across the sky and Blair glanced up from his seat on the balcony. It was almost dark now, and he could hardly see the books in front of him any more. Stretching his aching muscles, he began to close up the texts, collect his notes together. It had been a long afternoon - but very fruitful. The only problem was in explaining all this to Jim - should he ever wake up. 

As another crack of thunder smacked the darkness, he frowned, taking his glasses off. If this didn't stop, it would wake Jim up - and then he'd never get any rest. 

Gathering his things, he got to his feet and turned to the French doors. He pushed the curtain aside with his elbow and stepped forward. For a moment, pitch black greeted his eyes, but he knew where his desk was sufficiently not to bump into anything. He slid his load onto the flat surface and turned to see how Jim was doing. 

"I guess it's going to rain, then?" The voice surprised him, but it sounded a hell of a lot better than it had before. 

"Yeah. Pretty heavy, too. We're not that far from the monsoon, now, so this will happen more and more often. How do you feel?" 

"Honestly?" 

"Yes." 

"You really don't want to know." 

"Well, can I turn a light on? Just this lamp on the desk. It's got a dark green shade on it and I can promise you, it's not very bright." 

"Okay." 

Blair shielded Jim from the lamp with his body, until the other man had a chance to get used to the light. Then he moved over to the side of the bed, kneeling down as he had done before. "Okay, enough dancing around this subject, James Ellison - what happened today?" 

Jim rolled over to face him, cushioning his head on one arm. "I wish I knew." 

"And is this one of the problems you _haven't_ been talking about?" 

"One of them, yes." 

Blair didn't say anything for a moment and what he saw in the gaze that met his, made him pause. For all that Jim wanted help, there was something inside him which seemed to resist it, as though he almost wanted to be destroyed by what his senses were doing to him, as though he believed he deserved such a fate. 

Yes, teaching him to control his senses was going to be difficult - getting him to believe he _could_ was going to be even harder. 

"Hungry?" 

"A little." 

"I'll call down for a meal to be brought up." Blair got to his feet. "Then I'm going to take a shower and after that, you and I are going to have a long talk - so you can line up your protests right now and shout them through the bathroom door at me. Either way, be prepared to give me detailed descriptions of all the problems you've had so far - and I mean, all of them." 

Giving him no time to protest, Blair picked up the phone and set about the first stage of his plan. 

* * *

The lamp gave out golden light. It shone across half of Blair's face, gilding him, catching the shape of his cheek, the curve of his lashes, the softness of his unbound hair. 

Jim didn't move from the bed after he'd eaten. He simply lay on his side, watching everything Blair did, watched him pull up a chair, sit, cross his legs, open his notebook, glance up to ask questions, scribble some more before asking another. Jim replied honestly and openly to everything, paying little attention to what he was saying. Most of his attention was caught with watching live beauty in motion. 

Suppose he could never touch that. Suppose he could never hold it in his arms, never feel what he suspected he would feel - would that take away anything of this gift he had right here, at the moment? Would that make his enjoyment of it evil? Was he sick inside because he wanted to watch? 

No. If he was, then any man or woman who had ever seen a thing of beauty was equally sick - and besides, he didn't feel anything like that at all. What he felt mostly, was wonder. 

He was hooked - and he knew it. Addicted so quickly to being around this extraordinary young man as though Blair's energy were a drug being injected into his veins. 

For the first time in his life, his abnormal senses had given him something good. 

When finally Blair's questions came to an end, he sat there, writing for a bit longer, checking back on other pages, sticking the end of his pencil into his mouth, frowning a little. Then he reached out to the bedside table, took in a mouthful of cold coffee and swallowed. 

Every action noted as clearly in Jim's head as his words had been noted by the anthropologist. 

"Okay," Blair said finally, his eyes still on his notes - though how he could see them with the light on the other side of the room, Jim didn't know. "So, this blank out thing you do, do you remember what it's like, when it happens? 

"Not really. I'm mean, it's like I'm not really ..." 

"Connected to anything?" 

"I suppose." 

"Like you're somewhere else?" Blair glanced back down at his notes, pushing his glasses further up his nose. "It happens when you concentrate too much on one sense your connection to the real world diminishes. Something in Burton's monograph suggested this might happen ... well, hinted is probably closer. I mean, the man didn't have the research tools we have today so I guess ..." Blair looked up, threw Jim half a smile and shrugged, "Well, anyway, correct me if I'm wrong, here, okay? You're concentrating on one sense - like today with the scent of the flowers, right? And then the next thing you know, I'm sitting there talking to you." 

"That's about it." 

"And when you're in this blank out thing, you have no sense of time passing or anything like that?" 

"No." 

"How do you normally deal with it?" 

"Usually somebody pushes me and the shock of the movement seems to bring me out of it - though I have had a few nasty moments. Sometimes I come out of it on my own." 

"Basically, you've been very lucky. Somebody could have locked you up as being mentally unstable long before now. What I saw today would look to a lot of people as though you were in a self-induced catatonic state. They use shock therapy to cure that, you know." Blair chuckled to himself, frowned down at his notebook again. "I think I have an idea how we should proceed." 

"You think?" Jim murmured with a smile. 

"Come on, Jim," Blair glanced up, a wry smile of his own on his face, "this is a new science. Give me a break, here." 

"Go on, Professor." 

"No, not now. I'm tired, you're tired. I think we should get some sleep and start out fresh in the morning. How do you feel about getting away from the city for a few days?" 

"Where?" 

"Well, I have a birthday party I have to go to in Changi Village on Wednesday night. I've got a place on the east coast where it's nice and quiet. We could go to the party then stay on at the house for another few days afterwards." 

Jim rolled onto his back carefully, shaking his head. It still hurt and he had no idea how he was going to get home on his own. "I really don't want to face your friends again, if you don't mind. Nothing against them, you know but ..." 

"Oh, it's not them. This is another group of friends I have. Mostly people who wouldn't be seen dead in a place like the Raffles. I think you'd find them very interesting. And if not, then I can just make an appearance. I don't have to stay." 

Jim tossed a glance at him, "Don't you have anything better to do than spend all this time with me? Aren't you supposed to be finishing off your thesis?" 

"It's pretty much finished and I have another three months before I'm expected to put in a draft. More than enough time. Well?" 

"Well, what?" 

"Any other reasons you shouldn't go?" 

Jim took another moment to watch Blair, noting the way his eyes danced, the way his mouth moved when he spoke - and when he waited for an answer. 

So, yeah, it was okay to look - so he would. As often as he would be allowed to. "No, other than the obvious problem with clothes." 

"Well, how about I solve that once and for all?" 

"How?" 

"The tailor has your measurements now. I can ring him in the morning and get him to make you a whole wardrobe. He would have enough things for you to take away by the time we have to leave in the afternoon. The rest you can pick up when we get back." 

Jim saw the laughter shining in those eyes, even as he prepared a protest. "Look, I told you before ..." 

"Please, Jim, let me give you something? Consider it payment for being my research subject. Let me feed you and clothe you for the time we work together. It's only fair since I'm stopping you from working a normal job. If you like, you can think of it as though you were working for me. I promise you, my bank balance won't even notice it - especially now." 

"Why especially now?" 

Blair stopped, appearing to notice he'd said something more than he'd intended. Instantly, he was on his feet, his body expressing an agitation without words. "No reason. It doesn't matter." 

He was about to move away when Jim reached out and caught his wrist, sitting up in the process. But before he could say a word, pain lashed out at him, blinding him for a moment. He groaned, falling back, his eyes squeezed shut. 

"Jim, are you okay?" Blair was half on the bed, one hand holding Jim's, the other stroking it. "You shouldn't have moved. Just stay still, will you?" 

"Have to move. Have to get home." 

"Like hell you do. You're staying here. The bed's big enough for both of us. You go out like this now and you're likely to fall in the street, right in front of one of those big trucks that carry teak logs to the port. Very messy - and then where would I be without a research subject, eh?" 

Jim made a valiant attempt to smile, but those words about the bed being big enough for both of them struck a blade of fear right through him. Enough fear to keep him from replying. 

Blair waited as long as he needed to, then he got up. "Let's get your shoes off at least? And your nice new jacket. I'll put them out the door and both will be cleaned and the jacket pressed by the morning." Without waiting for permission, he set about removing the offending articles. He disappeared out the door for a moment, then returned, switching the lamp off as he passed. 

In the darkness, Jim could hear Blair removing his own shoes and socks \- and closed his eyes against the images that battered against his imagination ... 

If he just rolled over, if he just wrapped his arms around the man, would that be evil? Would that be perverted? Just to touch him for a minute? 

The bed beside him shifted as Blair lay down, pulling the stiff cotton sheet over both of them. Not one part of him came anywhere near Jim - but in a way, that only made it worse. 

Something hard and heavy inside him lurched, aching with the need to just touch, for one moment, the warmth now lying so close to him. It would be so easy ... so good ... 

His hand was already moving before he could stop it. When he saw it approach Blair's shoulder, his eyes widened - but it was too late. His fingers connected with cotton, feeling hard muscle beneath, warmth, electricity and ... 

Blair almost jumped. He twisted around, his face open, surprised, not giving any more away. 

Almost panicking now, Jim forced words out, "Just wanted to say ... thank you." 

And slowly, Blair relaxed, giving him something of a smile, "That's okay. Sleep now, Jim. We can worry about everything else in the morning." 

Jim nodded, taking his hand back, rolling over, away from temptation, away from feeling anything but fear. He buried his face in his pillow and swallowed down the lump forming in his throat. 

It was too late. He was already lost. 

* * *

This time, he knew he was dreaming. He could feel it. 

A dream. 

Lying on a bed, soft mattress beneath him, soft sheets surrounding his body. 

Their bodies. 

He turned his head, the darkness not hindering his sight as he gazed in awe at the beauty beside him. Blue, blue eyes watching him in return, a smile in them. 

He was dreaming and he knew it. So he reached out, brushed his fingers across a cheek, felt the face turn into his caress. 

They were naked. 

With cool assurance, Jim rolled over and pulled that man to him, burying his face in against the neck. If Blair held him in return, Jim didn't feel it - but right now it was unimportant. Just holding him was enough. 

Blair began to move against him. Aroused. Jim kissed a strong shoulder, moving with him. 

He was dreaming. Dreaming the hunger, the noises Blair made, the passion in his lovemaking. Dreaming the words he heard, at first tangled and nonsensical - then more understandable. "Didn't know ... Jim ... what are you ... doing?" 

Shame, horror and fear snapped the dream aside, dragging back to the dark jungle, the sleek black animal stalking him again. 

You do not belong. 

Jim headed for the darkness, dived into it and stayed there. 

This was no longer a dream. This was a nightmare. 

* * *

Blair could feel it as though it were a real thing, the presence behind him, watching him. He could hear rain falling outside, hear the traffic, sounds from beyond the door as the city woke to another wet morning, but all he could really feel were those pale eyes he knew were on him. 

Jim would know he was awake. So why didn't he turn? Why didn't he let the day begin, order some breakfast, get moving with the dozen tasks he'd listed for himself last night? Was it possible that he would rather lie here, feeling those eyes upon him, taking whatever he could from a man unable to give anything else? 

It was so strange being around him. He needed so much, gave so much of himself in every word, every gesture - and yet, so much of him was in hiding. Locked away against a world which would hurt him if it knew what he was. 

He needed so much. Perhaps even needed what Blair was willing to give him - but he would never take it, never ask for it. 

But what would he do if Blair did roll over, if he touched his fingers to those lips, if he kissed them? If he tried to make love to the man? Would Jim run again? Never come back? Never have anything more to do with him? 

Yes. That's exactly what he'd do. And in the end, they would both lose. 

He took in a deep breath, easing the pain down again, where it would do only lasting damage. He prepared his face, and rolled over slowly, ready to smile a greeting. "Good morning." 

He'd been right, Jim was watching him - a smile of his own in place. "'Morning, Chief." 

"You look better. Sleep well?" 

"Very. Better than I'd hoped, actually. Comfortable bed, this." 

You could sleep in this bed forever, if you wanted to, if you wanted me. "Good. I suppose we'd better get up, get some breakfast. I'm starving." 

"Me, too. Mind if I have another shower?" 

"Help yourself." 

"Thanks." Jim moved to get up - then paused. "What did you mean, last night? About the money? When you said, especially now?" 

Blair shook his head, easing back from ancient pain he could do nothing about. How the hell had Jim noticed when nobody else ever did? "Nothing. I told you, it doesn't matter. Now go and get in the shower and hopefully, we'll have some breakfast by the time you get out." 

"There's something you're not telling me." Jim sat up, pulling the sheets back so he could swing his legs over the bed. "I know it's probably none of my business, but that's twice you've had that same look on your face. Something's bothering you and I'd rather know what it is than to keep guessing." 

Something's bothering him? Apart from having fallen ... in love with a man who thought he was ... 

Hell! 

Blair sat up, turning his back to Jim, his voice coming out sharper than he intended. "You're right, it's none of your business." 

Jim said nothing. It just took him a minute to get up - and then he was in the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind him. 

Blair stayed on the bed, wrapping his arms around himself. Why the hell should he still care so much? Still care about Jacob. Why did he have to care so much about Jim? 

* * *

"Where on earth did you get this pile of junk?" 

Blair stood by the side of the road, hands on his hips, watching as Jim walked around and around the battered car. At one time in its life, it had been blue, new and very shiny. Those days had gone, something like the last century, never to be seen again. What was left was something bruised and scratched, dented and rusting in a few places. But mechanically, it was like a new car, the top having been removed by an expert, replaced by a black canvas cover which could be pulled over if it began to rain. 

The rain had stopped by midday, so Blair had driven without the hood, revelling in the wind flying through his hair. 

"Well?" Jim asked again, incredulous, a smile of disbelief on his face. "I thought you said you were rich?" 

"I did. I am." 

"So why buy a buy a broken down thing like this? When you said you were going out to buy a car, I was expecting something like a Rolls. But this?" 

"Hey, it's a classic. Goes really well, too. You want to drive?" 

"Huh, I have a reputation to protect," Jim replied, glancing aside at him. "But I'd better anyway." 

"Why?" 

"Well, I figure if this is your idea of a good car, I don't want to find out what your idea of good driving is. Come on, don't just stand there, this thing might rust and fall apart before we get it around the corner." 

Laughing, Blair tossed his suitcase in the back, Jim's with it. Nothing more had been said about the gift of clothes - nor even of the shoes and other related items Blair had purchased that morning. The only thing remaining to do before they could head east was to stop off and see Jim's friend, Rukit, to tell him what was happening. 

It took them a long time to get out of the city. Blair didn't use a map; he knew the place too well to bother - but Jim kept getting side-tracked, turning down roads simply because he liked the look of them. It became clear quite quickly, that Jim hadn't driven for a long time - and was thoroughly enjoying himself. They were halfway out towards Jurong before Blair could get Jim to turn around and head east again, in the direction they were supposed to go. 

Blair began to relax into the worn leather seat, knowing he was smiling more often than not. Jim talked as he drove, watching the mirror as they finally got back to the city and left it again, heading out into deep lush jungle where tiny kampongs dotted the countryside. Listening to Jim talk was a rare treat. Blair said very little other than posing the odd question here or there. In the process, he found out things about Jim's childhood, aspects of the city of Cascade he'd not known before, and he began to wish he could go back there, to discover the countryside around the city - something he'd not had time to do during his summer visit. 

Not that he would ever get the chance to do so now. 

The afternoon flew by, punctuated only with Jim's slamming on the brakes in the middle of a straight stretch of road. He cried out, covering his face with his hands. 

"Jim, what's wrong?" Blair almost panicked. 

"What. Is. That. _Smell_?" 

Blair turned his head, eyes casting around for some hint. The roadside was lined with trees and vines, thick green brush and very little else. He wasn't even sure there were any houses nearby. The coast was a good three miles to the south of them. "What smell? Is it bitter? Sweet? Rotting? Give me a clue, here Jim. You're the one with the heightened senses." 

"It is the most _revolting_ thing I've ever smelt in my entire life!" Jim was now sitting up, holding his nose, his face a caricature of extreme distaste. 

Unable to help laughing, Blair apologized with his hands, "Okay, it's horrible - but what else is it? Come on, Jim, we can't sit here in the middle of the road. We're holding up traffic." 

Jim glared at him, glared up and down the empty road - then glared back at Blair for good measure. "What traffic?" His voice was nasal, filled with contempt - making Blair laugh again. 

"Well, somebody might come by." 

"Just tell me what that smell is - and we can move. Wouldn't want to get mown down by a passing _bicycle!_ " 

Blair had to turn away; he couldn't look at that face and control his laughter at the same time. "Well, it might be ... um ..." and then a thought struck him and he took in a deep breath. Yes, it was just there, on the edge of the breeze. Sharp, distinctive and indeed, horrible enough to send a sentinel into apoplexy. 

"Durian." He announced, turning back to Jim. 

"What?" 

"Durian. It's a fruit, green, about the same size as a coconut. It grows on trees. The locals cut it open and leave it lying in the sun, on banana-leaf mats to dry. It's considered a delicacy." 

"Does it taste as horrible as it smells?" 

"Worse." 

"Ugh," Jim grunted, starting the car again. "And don't even think about including this in your tests, okay? You ever make me eat that stuff and I swear you'll be smelling of it for the rest of your life!" 

* * *

The dirt road seemed to go on forever, turning occasionally, the thick jungle never really giving Jim an opportunity to see where they might be heading. The sun was sinking low now, their journey longer than expected due to the detours Jim had insisted on taking. However, he was now starting to get concerned they might not find this house before dark. 

He had to admit it, though, he felt better being away from the city. Granted, he didn't much like the idea of going to this party - but it was still two whole days away, plenty of time to find a convenient excuse not to go. 

Blair sat beside him, slouched down so his head could rest on the back of the seat. He watched the road though half-closed eyes. He'd been quiet for the last hour, only moving to point out the road they were now on. 

Jim had been around Blair enough now to know there was something wrong when he went silent. But he'd tried asking and been slapped back for his troubles. Maybe Blair could be keeping it to himself, thinking Jim already overburdened with his own troubles - but this didn't appear to be a new thing. Rather, that there was an older pain lurking in the background, only recently dug up to be chewed over again. 

It gnawed at Blair - and it gnawed at Jim - but Jim couldn't think of another way to approach the problem. Not without getting his head bitten off again. But he would have to say something soon. Whatever it was was eating away at Blair from the inside and Jim simply couldn't leave it alone, not if there was something he could do about it. 

"Slow down." Blair murmured, forcing himself to sit up straight. "The gate is just along here. On your right." 

"How can you tell? All this jungle looks the same to me." 

"Yeah, but it's my jungle - and that makes all the difference." Blair offered him a tired smile and Jim nodded. 

"So, you're this rich, eh?" 

"Like you wouldn't believe. There, see that dip in the road? Just turn in there." 

Jim slowed and turned the car into a track that had been invisible a moment before. Suddenly it got a lot darker as they drove beneath a thick canopy of vegetation. His nose detected sea air, had done so an hour before. Now it was suddenly much closer. 

"You own all this?" 

"No, it's not mine. I just rent it. I actually do most of my writing out here. I get a lot done without the distraction of parties and stuff. We're nearly there. Just be careful - there's a few holes in the track and I don't want to blow a tire." 

"Right." Jim slowed down, turned on another bend and suddenly the sky opened up, revealing an enormous clearing with a house sitting firmly in the centre. Beyond, the land dipped down towards the sea, a cliff of maybe a hundred feet - and then the ocean beyond. He stopped the car and got out, not taking his eyes from the view. "Good God!" 

"You like it?" 

"Are you joking?" Jim paused for effect, "It's hideous!" 

"What?" Blair spun around, his mouth open, ready to protest. A gust of breeze tugged at his wild hair, making him look like a kid again. 

Jim grinned, "Am I allowed to explore?" 

Blair shut his mouth, shook his head and laughed, "You can do anything you want, Jim." 

Can I tell you how you make me feel? 

Jim shook his head, shook the thought away. No, anything but that. "Then I'm going exploring." Jim turned and headed for the house, for the first time, untouched by the anguish he knew was rotting away inside him. 

They were parked on a bluff of land, elbowing out into the sea. The coast rolled away in a curve to the left, the clifftop engorged with thick green jungle, as though it would grow down and out, swallowing up the ocean. The house sat on the only cleared land, sea and cliff on one side, vegetation on the other. Sand and couch grass filled the gaps. 

The building was old, in desperate need of some serious work. A remnant of more prosperous colonial years. Built of wood, it had a porch which covered three sides, roofed in rusting tin. A huge water tank stood on stilts to the left. Big, wide windows stared out at the sea, spattered with old rain marks and encrusted salt. 

Jim tried the door and it opened to his touch. Stepping inside, he found it dark, but not so dark his eyes couldn't see. There were three rooms. A kitchen and eating area, a bathroom and a bedroom. Almost no furniture except for the desk in the bedroom, a couple of chairs and a closet. There was a table in the kitchen and what looked like bowls and plates, everything necessary to cook a meal, live simply. No electricity - but running water from the tank. 

A very wealthy man - and yet he chose to live like this? 

"You're surprised, aren't you?" Blair had come up behind him. 

"Yes." 

"Well, could you be surprised - and carry your suitcase at the same time?" 

Jim burst out laughing and spun around, taking the bag from Blair - and only just stopped himself from picking the smaller man up and hugging him. This was fantastic! Peace and quiet, the sea, the view, the house \- and Blair. All to himself for a whole week! 

He put his suitcase in the bedroom, against a wall and turned. "This is great, Chief, but there are no beds. What do we sleep on?" 

"The floor. The closet has mats, blankets and pillows. Why don't you make the beds up and I'll see if Meena has left us some food." 

As Jim opened the closet, Blair disappeared into the kitchen. "Who's Meena?" 

"My Amah. She comes in here and cleans every week. That's why it isn't as dusty as it could be - and not overrun with cockroaches. She keeps the cupboards stocked with canned food and when she knows I'm coming, brings fresh vegetables and sometimes even ... oh, wow, that woman is an angel!" 

"Why? What's she done?" Jim took out rolled mats and spread them out on the floor. This was much like his bed had been at Rukit's. 

"This." 

He glanced up to find Blair standing in the door with a clay pot in one hand, a bamboo steamer in the other and a huge smile on his face. "Dinner. Curry and rice. All we have to do is light a fire and we eat!" 

"But how did she know we were ..." 

"There's a phone in her kampong. It's about a mile up the coast from here. I called this morning and left her a message. Like I said, she's an angel." 

As Blair disappeared again, Jim continued with his work, "I hope you pay her well." 

"After this, she gets a bonus. I am so hungry I could eat the car!" 

"Well, with all that rust, you'd be less likely to break your teeth." Jim replied with a grin. He finished with the beds and turned to one of the doors going out onto the porch. It opened with a crunch of salt and sand and then he was outside, breathing in fresh, sea-scented air. 

A path led from the house to the edge of the cliff and his feet were taking him down it before he gave it a thought. But right now, thinking was the last thing he wanted to do. 

* * *

"Okay, Jim, just one more and then we're done for the day. Can you do one more?" 

"Sure." 

Blair smiled. Jim was sitting so still on the grass, the blindfold carefully in place, his head tilted slightly to one side. His patience was wearing thin, but he never said a word about it, not since this morning. 

He'd had another ... blank out. Blair had been testing him on sight, asking him to describe a bird that was flying way out to sea. Jim had been standing close to the cliff at the time - when he'd just ... gone. 

But Blair had been watching him, had brought him back quickly the same way as he had last time. His hand on Jim's, his voice slow and steady. 

It had been easier this time. Now that he actually understood what he was supposed to be doing. 

"Okay, Jim, this one's sharp - so don't go grabbing it hard." 

"Sharp, right." 

Blair placed the letter opener in Jim's hand, closing his fingers over it to get the feel. "Got it?" 

"Yeah." 

"Now concentrate, like last time. Feel how sharp it is - but picture that wireless dial in your head. Turn down your sense of touch until you can't feel how sharp it is, how the metal is cold." 

"Am I going to cut myself?" 

"No, I'm watching you. If it looks like you're squeezing too hard, I'll stop you, okay?" Blair remained close, kneeling on the grass, his hand raised ready to halt the exercise or to bring Jim back if he blanked out again. "Come on, Jim, talk to me. Tell me what it feels like." 

"Well, hard and cold. Steel, I think." 

"Hey, that's great! How can you tell?" 

"The temperature and ... little folds and pits in the surface. The handle is ivory, smooth, old and there's a small metal band around the top. Is it silver?" 

"Excellent!" Blair grinned again. This man was incredible. Once he put aside his fears for a moment, he could do just about anything. "How can you tell it's silver?" 

"It's a bit warmer than the steel but not as warm as the ivory. It just ... feels like silver." 

"Um, okay, now picture that dial turning slowly downwards. Get a really good picture in your head and imagine you can't tell the difference in the temperature." 

"I ... " Jim frowned. "My hand's gone numb." 

"So you turned it down too far. Turn it back up a little. Just a bit. Actually, this could be good. Just go up enough so you can feel your hand again." 

"Yeah, okay. Got it." 

"Now a bit more, until you can feel the thing sitting there, just the weight of it, no more." 

He watched Jim's hand twitch, flex - then abruptly squeeze the metal hard. 

"Stop!" Blair clamped his hand over Jim's arm. "Let go, Jim. That'll do for today." He took the blindfold off to find Jim looking at him, a question in his eyes. 

"Well, Chief? How did I do?" 

"Incredible. Nearly top marks. I think this is going to work." 

"Me picturing a wireless dial in my head? Are you sure?" There was no belligerence in his voice, only curiosity. "I don't know, Chief. I mean, am I really going to have the time to do that, to think about it when I need to?" 

"Practice, Jim. That's all you need. Lots of practice. If you work at it, you'll get to the point where you won't have to think about it any more. You'll be able to dial your senses up or down depending on what you need. And even better - if you ever injure yourself, you'll be able to dial the pain down until you can't feel it. Much better than drugs, eh?" 

"And it will be that easy, huh?" Jim looked away, stretching his legs out, his face turning towards the sea. "Find all this in those books from the library?" 

Blair put the letter opener on the pile with the other things they'd been using and settled beside Jim, lifting his face to the sun. "I told you there are very few written references to sentinels in existence. Unfortunately, none of them mention how to control the senses." 

"So, what do they say?" 

Glancing aside, Blair paused. Was this a good time to tell him? He seemed calm enough, seemed more at home with this now than he had before. Perhaps the panic had worn off a little, the worry that he would be cursed with this for the rest of his life, slightly in abeyance. 

As good a time as any. "I don't think sentinels were ever supposed to work alone." 

Jim turned to face him slowly. "They worked in pairs? In groups?" 

"No. Only one per community, according to Burton. No, I mean they usually had somebody to help them, probably to help control their zones, perhaps even to talk them through things, when the sensory input got too much." Blair took a breath as understanding began to filter across Jim's face. "I found two references where such a person was called a Guide." 

Jim's sudden smile surprised him. "So you're my guide, eh?" 

Blair couldn't help laughing a little. Jim's smile was such a gift, seen too rarely - though increasingly often now they were out here, away from the city. "I guess I must be." 

Saying nothing else, Jim simply met his gaze, softening a little, the crystal blue wonderfully bright in the afternoon sunshine. 

There was something so intense in that gaze and yet, so gentle, Blair's heart gave a little flutter. For a moment, it seemed entirely possible that Jim was about to kiss him. He didn't move for fear of ruining the moment - but a moment was all it was. A second later, Jim got up, brushing his trousers down, behaving like nothing had happened. 

"We've got an hour or so before dark. I'm hot so I'm going for a swim. Just yell when you want to start cooking and I'll come up and help." 

And then he was gone, disappearing down the path to the beach. 

* * *

The beach was mostly rocks banding a small stretch of golden sand. Beyond that and stretching down the coast as far as Jim could see, were more rocks, fallen from the jungle-gripped cliffs. 

Like a kid, Jim clambered around, squatting down to examine the contents of more than one rock pool as he made his way along the sea line. Small waves crashed over the edge occasionally, spraying his legs with water so warm it could have been heated. It was strangely refreshing. 

It was quiet out here. No sounds of the city or any other living beings apart from the birds and insects in the jungle above him. Quiet was exactly what he needed. Maybe the quiet would rid him of his hyperactive senses. Not that it ever had before - but this was a different quiet, one he recognized though for the life of him, he couldn't think why. 

Finding a dry rock to sit upon, Jim relaxed and watched the sea. For more years than he could remember, simply fading his awareness into an ocean of gentle movement had been one of the most peaceful activities he'd had at his disposal. Growing up in Cascade had given him that much at least. 

Blair seemed satisfied they were getting somewhere with this sentinel thing. And now there was this new angle, the guide aspect. Probably very interesting on an objective, intellectual level - but really, what was the man talking about? A few vague references from a man so many years dead, a man whose reputation was also stained by the argument surrounding his exploration of the Nile. Had Burton really understood what he was talking about - and was Jim really a sentinel? 

His dreams last night had been horrific in so many ways. That damned panther wouldn't leave him alone. Neither would the images of Blair. But at least this time, he'd slipped out of the nightmares and back into normal sleep, apparently not disturbing Blair in the process. Didn't mean Jim couldn't remember them. He always remembered; another part of the curse. 

Yeah, well, maybe there was a chance Blair could help him. This dial idea seemed to have some merit, seemed to work sometimes. Would it stop him from blanking out? Stop him from having dreams where his senses went so wild he woke up with his eyes stinging, his mouth churning with some imagined taste? Until a few days ago, those terrors hadn't been confined to his sleep. Only a few days ago, something like that could happen at any time, without warning. 

So did that make him a sentinel? And if not, what did it make him? Was that what the panther was trying to tell him? That in reality, he didn't belong anywhere, because of these senses? And if that were true, what the hell was he supposed to do with himself, with his life? Become a hermit where he wouldn't inflict his agonies on others? 

He wasn't one of the idle rich. Didn't have the money to sit around all day drinking champagne, playing the odd game of tennis and making lazy comments about a war that had the potential to swallow up the world. But even if he had that wealth, being idle was not for him. 

He'd tried college, tried the army, tried the police force. Tried to follow so many paths that would give him something to sink his heart into, something to make him feel alive, some means to contribute. And every time - every single time, he'd been forced to move on because of his senses. 

Blair couldn't make them go away. Had never even made the attempt to, trying to convince Jim that understanding and control were the answers, rather than suppression. But even if he were right, even if Jim could control them more - would he ever get so good at it he could afford to go on and live a normal life? 

Would he ever find a place to belong? 

With a sigh, Jim stood up, shaking the sand from his shoes. It was getting late and Blair would want to start preparing a meal soon. It had been a good day so far - and a large part of that had been Blair's doing. His patience, his sense of humour, his energy for what he was trying to achieve all very complementary to the peacefulness of this place. 

No, maybe he didn't need to become a hermit, not if he could have somebody like Blair close by. Somebody who understood. Okay, so it couldn't be Blair - but was he the only person in the world who could understand? And after all, Blair had his own life, his studies, a thesis to finish. It was doubtful Burton or whoever described a relationship where the sentinel was dependent on his guide for the rest of his life. 

It was a shame really, all things considered. After all, Blair - ignoring all the other things Jim felt about him - had been the most calming influence he'd ever had. Odd for such an energetic person, to engender calm in another. 

With a smile on his face, Jim turned to the path and started up. From out of nowhere, a sound came to him and he paused long enough to listen. Inland. Perhaps a mile or so away. The voice of an Imam calling the faithful to prayer, reciting verses of the Koran in a ghostly singing that seemed so at odds with this peaceful warmth. Still, it was some distance and the Imam wouldn't be amplified - not out here. 

He turned back for the path, chuckling. Blair would want to know about this. 

* * *

"Three." 

"In which direction?" 

"Dead ahead." 

"God, I can't see anything. Are you sure?" 

"Red and green navigation lights. When the wind drops, I can even hear the thrum of the engines from the closest." 

"Wow." Blair peered into the darkness but he couldn't see a thing. Moonlight kept appearing from behind the blustering clouds but it did nothing to reveal the presence of the ships Jim reported as being out there. He shook his head and settled back into his deck chair. He had a blanket around his shoulders as it was one of those rare nights when the air turned a little cool. Jim sat beside him, oblivious to the cold, elbows on his knees, watching the invisible horizon. 

"Want me to get your notebook?" Jim asked. 

"Nah, I'll remember to write it down tomorrow. Frankly, I'm too damned tired to even move from this spot. Why don't you just grab the rest of my blankets, toss them over me and let me sleep where I am." 

"Ah," Jim sighed knowingly, "I knew the day would come when you grew bored with your new research subject. Good thing you're not writing your dissertation about me." 

"Would you mind if I did?" Blair asked, watching him in the small shreds of moonlight. 

Jim shrugged, "Would anybody I know read it?" 

"I doubt it - though I wouldn't use your name. Sure, it would set the academic world on fire - but who cares about that these days, what with the way things are in Europe?" 

When Jim turned to face him then, he wanted to hit himself. "Hell, Jim, I'm sorry! I didn't mean ..." 

"They'd find out, wouldn't they? The military? They'd track you down and make you tell them who I was." He nodded to himself, returning his gaze to the sea, seeing things only visible to his eyes. "Sure, they'd love to find a man who can spot three ships halfway to the horizon in pitch darkness." 

"Then," Blair paused, trying to read the sudden stillness in the older man. "I won't publish anything until after the war." 

"You say that with such certainty. Like it's really going to happen - or that there will be a time when it's over." 

"All wars end some time." 

"Do they?" 

And suddenly, Blair wasn't so sure they were talking about Europe any more. Jim was silent for a while, then he let out a sigh and sat back, crossing his legs, folding his hands on his lap. "Publish what you like, Chief. You deserve to make something out of this. You can even use my name if you want. I'm never going back. They can try finding me. With sentinel senses, I won't let them get close enough to even fire a shot." 

Blair couldn't find anything to say to that. Instead, he simply gazed at the strong profile, absorbing as much of it as he could, to store it against the day when Jim would go on his way, leaving Blair with only memories. 

"Are you going to tell me?" 

Frowning, Blair replied, "Tell you what?" 

"About the money?" Jim didn't look at him, as though he were afraid to. "About what's bothering you." 

Playing for time, Blair asked, "Why do you think something's bothering me?" 

"Because you keep having these quiet moments. Well, okay, they last a lot longer than a few moments. And every time I mention it, you get this look on your face." Jim turned then, "Like you have now." 

Frozen under that scrutiny, Blair could only whisper, "What look?" 

"The one that says somebody hurt you, maybe a long time ago. But lately you keep remembering. So, are you going to tell me? Or is it really none of my business?" 

Blair couldn't answer. It was just too hard, would ruin too many things. 

"I mean, I thought by this time we might qualify as ... I don't know, maybe friends? Friends listen. Friends help. You helped me. Still are helping me. I don't see that you're going to stop in a hurry. So maybe we are friends. And as your friend, I don't like seeing you with that look on your face. Makes me want to hit someone." 

"You can't," Blair managed, breaking himself out of his freeze with sheer determination. "He's an old man now." 

Jim shifted in his seat, so he could face Blair properly. "Does it have anything to do with that lawyer you saw yesterday before we left the city?" 

God, what was he going to do? What could he say? Trying to skirt around the truth would get him nowhere and only succeed in shutting Jim out \- which was about the last thing he wanted to do. But telling him the story would only ruin everything, make him more afraid, make him shut Blair out. 

"Well, Chief?" 

"Jim, please, it's not that I won't tell you - it's more that I don't think you want to know." 

"Why wouldn't I want to know? Somebody hurt you, Chief, I do want to know." 

Blair closed his eyes and put his head back. He couldn't get out of this, no matter how he tried. Speaking about it would be painful - but there was a cause and effect here much more important. 

But there was also a temptation to talk about it. Something in Jim's tone had an air of protectiveness to it and while Blair had never considered himself vulnerable, that tone reached a part of him untouched for a long time. 

And maybe, just maybe, with this man, he could talk about it. Could bring himself to tell the story aloud for the first time. Could admit to the parts of himself he always kept hidden. At the very least, he could tell some of the story - enough to satisfy Jim's curiosity without ruining anything. 

"Please, Chief. Talk to me." 

And in that gentle plea, Blair was undone. Jim was right; if nothing else, they had indeed become friends - and friends simply didn't lie to each other, didn't avoid unpleasant truths. Not real friends, anyway. 

As though he sensed a change in Blair's attitude, Jim asked, "Who is the old man?" 

"My grandfather, Jacob Sandburg." 

"And he's the one who hurt you?" 

"That's right." 

"Why? How?" 

"It's a long story, Jim ..." 

"I'm listening. Haven't anything else to do." 

Blair looked at him then, wishing he could afford to smile. Then, knowing he had no choice, he took a deep breath. "My mother didn't marry my father before they conceived me." 

"You're illegitimate?" 

"That's right. Big family scandal. They sent my mother off to Italy, stuck a wedding ring on her finger and pretended she'd been married somewhere else. Then she had me and went back to the States with a story about how her poor husband died in a boating accident on the Med." 

"So who is your father?" 

"I have no idea. She's never told me. I'm not sure she remembers." 

Jim frowned, "How can she not remember?" 

Blair chuckled dryly, "If you knew Naomi, you wouldn't ask that question." 

"But your name is Sandburg." 

"I changed it when I turned twenty-one. Decided I didn't want to live my life with a fake surname." 

"So what happened when your mother got home? Did they disown her?" 

"God, no. No, although most of the family knew the truth, they successfully hushed it up. It's amazing what money can do - and my family has more than its fair share. Besides, Naomi was my grandmother's favourite and she simply wouldn't allow anything else. The story held, nobody talked and after a year or so, things quietened down. Friends, society never knew the truth." 

"What about your grandfather?" 

"Oh," Blair picked at the threads of his blanket, seeing the old man's face before him, as he had on that last day. It was easy to imagine how he'd reacted to Naomi's indiscretion. "He was apparently pretty angry, but he doted on his wife and went along with it for her sake. Families can be like that, you know? Sticking together, being loyal, making the most of what they've got. Forgiving and forgetting. I think they all genuinely loved Naomi - she's pretty lovable, even if she is my mother. They seemed prepared to accept what she'd done and lived with it." 

When Blair came to an end, Jim said nothing for a moment. Then he got up and went inside, reappearing a moment later with a couple of beer bottles Meena had left in the cupboard. He stuck them against the window ledge and knocked off the lids, handing one to Blair before taking a mouthful of his own. 

"Um, I hate to tell you this, Jim, but you don't drink." 

"I don't - much. At least, I haven't since my senses started playing up again. I just feel like a beer tonight. Any objections?" 

Blair could only smile. Jim trusted him. Trusted him enough to take a risk on the beer affecting his senses. 

Jim trusted him. 

Wow! 

Returning to his chair, Jim said, "So what about you?" 

"Me?" 

"How did your family treat you, being illegitimate? You said they forgave your mother - did they forgive you?" 

"Hey, I didn't do anything wrong but be born." 

"True, but you were the constant evidence of her misdeed. How did they react to you?" 

Blair settled, swallowing a mouthful of beer before answering. Yeah, this was hard to talk about. Harder than he'd expected. Hard to remember after he'd spent so much time and effort trying to forget. "I guess they pretty much accepted me. Sure, I noticed the odd look, the odd word now and then. Sometimes the things they said hurt - but Naomi just told me to pay no attention. I was twelve when she told me the truth. I admit I was pretty shocked at the time and those looks suddenly made sense. It was nothing really terrible though." 

"And your grandfather?" 

"Thought I was a bit odd, wanting to study anthropology - but like I said, he was a historian in his spare time. He was prepared to indulge me. He already had two sons to take over the business empire, two other grandsons. In a way, I think he was a bit grateful that I wouldn't be out there, mixing with people who might one day find out the truth." 

"So, how did he hurt you?" 

Blair pursed his lips together, still not wanting to break this mood, this comforting bond that had grown between them. And yes, it was painful to talk about it, that day ten years ago. Painful to remember the things said to him, the anger, the hatred. Jim was asking these questions for the best of reasons, a desire to help. He couldn't know what he was raking up, what he was destroying in the process. 

And how would he react if Blair told him the truth? Were his fears directed only at himself? Hell, what was he supposed to do? 

"Come on, Chief, don't clam up on me now." 

Letting out another sigh, Blair shook his head, as though it could finally rid him of the memories of that day. "The lawyer, Crimpton, came to Singapore to give me some papers. I've had a trust fund since I was sixteen. Not exactly an enormous amount of money - but certainly plenty to keep me in style at places like the Raffles. But Crimpton came out here, sent by my grandfather, to deed over to me my inheritance. My share of my grandfather's estate which normally, I wouldn't get until he died." 

"He's still alive." 

"That's right." 

"So why are you getting it now?" 

"Because he ... " Blair paused. If he lied now, he might lose this bond with Jim - but if he told the truth, he stood to lose a lot more. God, what choice did he have? "Well, I get it now on the condition that I promise never to return to the States." 

"What?" Jim was on his feet in a flash, beer bottle stabbing the air. "Who the hell does he think he is? Just because you're illegitimate, doesn't mean he can ..." 

Jim's instant anger touched Blair. Deeply. Sadly. No, he didn't have a choice. And really, perhaps it was for the best that he tell the truth. It had always been too easy to be himself around Jim. If he lied now, how could he keep that up? How would he ever gain Jim's respect? 

He shook his head, "That's not why." 

Jim paused but didn't sit. 

"He threw me out of the house when I was sixteen, my trust money in my pocket. Sent me off to college with orders never to come back. When I graduated, I went to England, enrolled to do my PhD at Oxford. Within a week of arriving, he sent me a note - via his never-ending collection of lawyers - to tell me not to return home ever. Now, of course, he's prepared to pay me to make sure I don't." 

"But why? What could you possibly have done at the tender age of sixteen to make him hate you so much?" 

The words, when they came, did so remarkably easily. "I fell in love." 

Thinking he understood, Jim sank to his seat once more, shaking his head, "I don't believe this. And I suppose the girl wasn't good enough for them, was she?" 

"No," Blair whispered, ice filling his chest, unable to look at Jim now. "No, _he_ wasn't." 

There was no sudden explosion, no sharp denials, no bitter anger. Nothing, in fact, but cold, endless silence. 

Then a noise, as Jim scraped his chair back, as he got to his feet, as he turned away and walked to the porch rail. Blair chanced looking at him then, saw solid shoulders stiff and immobile, saw the beer bottle resting on the rail. Saw Jim lift it, swing it and throw it over the cliff. 

Blair didn't hear it land and smash - but Jim certainly did. He flinched, dropping his head. Then, without a word, he turned and walked off into the night. 

Continued in part three.


	3. Chapter 3

Due to length, this story has been split into five parts.

## Prison

by Jack Reuben Darcy

Author's homepage: <http://internetdump.com/users/angiet/>

Disclaimer and notes can be found in part one. 

* * *

Prison - Part three  
By Jack Reuben Darcy 

Blair woke to banging, somewhere on the opposite side of the house. He groaned, sat up - and groaned again. The banging didn't stop. It kept going, changed tone, continued on, unmindful of the splitting headache he had. Indulging himself with a third groan, Blair rolled over and got up - stopping when he saw that Jim's bed hadn't been slept in. 

Keeping his thoughts tightly reined in, he went into the bathroom, washed up then changed into clean trousers and shirt, sticking his feet into the comfortable shoes he kept for his trips to this place. 

The banging stopped for a moment, moved on and picked up once more. 

Blair went into the kitchen to see the small stove had already been stoked up, water put on to boil for coffee. Damned good thing, too. Well, no point in waiting around for it. It was time to go out and confront the worst. 

He went out by the front door, keeping his steps a normal pace, aware his heartbeat was equally normal. Well, he'd had a whole night to think about it, hadn't he? 

A whole lifetime to think about it. A life continually inflicted with the judgement of others, of curtailed freedoms, of attitudes clipped and fashioned around something that was as much a part of him as his eye colour. Rejection was an old soldier to him now, familiar and worn. He'd almost grown out of being hurt by it. 

Almost. 

He came around the side of the house to find Jim kneeling down, a hammer in his hand, nails sticking out of his mouth. He applied one to the bottom layer of weatherboard and began hammering again. Blair waited patiently until Jim was finished, then asked the obvious question. 

"What are you doing?" 

"Making this place a little more secure." 

"Why?" 

"We're going to get a big storm soon. By the looks of it, this place lets in a bit of water. The roof seems okay, though." 

"How do you know there's going to be a storm?" 

"How the hell do you think?" 

There was no anger in the tone, but Blair guessed Jim hadn't got much sleep last night - and for some reason, that tore at the edges of his own temper. Hadn't he tried to warn Jim he wouldn't want to know the truth? 

Pretty typical though. Ask a question - be unprepared for the answer. Friendship offered and as quickly withdrawn. Very typical. 

Sure, Blair had tried to avoid telling him - but Jim hadn't paid any attention. After all, he was the man who was trying to deny his own enhanced senses, trying to pretend they could be 'cured' of their hypersensitivity. What a joke! The man was blessed with a gift most people would kill for \- and he wanted to make it all go away! 

Screwed. He was totally screwed. 

"You could have waited until I woke up." Blair snapped, letting his anger go, let it warm him. It felt good, like he'd been bottling it up way too long. "Or is this just retribution?" 

Jim stopped at that, but didn't turn and look at him. Instead, he removed the nails from his mouth, picked out another slat of wood and adjusted his position so he could hammer at that as well. "Not retribution." 

"Then what?" 

"I don't want to talk about it." 

"Oh? Now isn't that interesting. You insisted I tell you last night when I didn't want to - and now you don't want to talk about it." 

"I'm sorry." 

"You're sorry?" Blair yelled. "I don't know what the hell kind of screwed up world you live in, Jim Ellison, but I'm sick to death of apologies. I am _not_ ashamed of what I am - and there's no way you're going to make me think I should be!" 

With that, Blair spun around and headed back around the house. But he didn't go inside. He kept walking, walking towards the trees, picking a path he could find in his sleep. 

He had to get away. Away from that man. Knew it was a bad idea in the beginning, knew it was foolish to let himself feel this way, knew he'd get hurt. 

And god, it hurt so bad. Knowing what Jim thought of him now. Normal. Jim liked normal, craved it as a starving child craved food. He would have given his soul to be normal, was prepared to trade any kind of life just to convince himself he was. 

But he wasn't. He would never be normal, no matter how much he hated himself for it. 

Only now, he would hate Blair for the same thing - only Blair didn't have the excuse of heightened senses to fall back on. His ... perversion came of its own accord, the vengeance of an unjust god upon a child born out of wedlock. 

Oh, yes, he'd heard them all. Every single black, hideous, vile condemnation.  >From the age of sixteen, he'd heard them, mostly from the mouths of his own family, from people who appeared on the surface to be friends. People he'd trusted. A family who would never accept him as he was. Who hated this one aspect about him and therefore, hated everything about him. Had they ever loved him at all? Ever cared about him? 

Well, he was well rid of them! He'd never missed them, not once in the last ten years. After all, who needs that kind of bigotry in their lives? He was happy with who and what he was. Very happy. Why should it bother anyone else? 

Why couldn't the world just accept him? Why did it have to throw people like Jim in his face, making him fall in love only to receive hatred in return. 

Jim had offered friendship - and in return, had given judgement. Just like so many others before him. 

It was the same thing, again and again. Hope and despair entwined together in his life. Whenever he thought he might have one, the other came along, dogging its heels like some devil incarnate, seizing him, twisting him, making him hate back, hate himself, hate a world that had done this to him. 

Thunder cracked around him, making him stop, making him look up. The sky was black; heavy clouds dominating the view from all sides. The cliff stood before him, a steep rocky drop to the ocean. 

He stepped back until his passage was halted by the jungle. There he sank to the ground, burying his face in his hands. 

The rain came then, large drops hitting his shirt, his knees, smacking him as though he were an errant child in need of punishment. But he didn't deserve this. He'd done nothing wrong. He'd only followed his heart, doing what he believed was right, being true to the self he'd been born with. Even though the world rejected him, would never accept him, would always revile him - he knew the truth. 

How could love be wrong? 

* * *

By the time the rain began, Jim had done all the repairs he could. He closed all the windows and doors on the house and stopped outside on the porch, in the lee of the wind, waiting for Blair to return. 

Only, he didn't. 

Ignoring the now-constant rumbling thunder, the split of lightning across the sky, Jim headed back inside and stoked more coals onto the stove fire from the box under the bench. He filled the biggest pot he could find with water and set it on top. Then he went outside again and waited. 

And still Blair didn't come. 

Damn it, what was the man playing at? He must know how dangerous it was to be near trees during a thunder storm - especially trees so near a cliff. 

Stubborn, that's what he was. Stubborn. 

Not ashamed of what he was? How could he stand there and say something like that? Openly admit it - and then brazenly embrace it, like it was something ... normal. There was nothing normal about it! Nothing at all! It was wrong, perverted, evil. 

And the way he'd said it! Fallen in love? Love? Men didn't fall in love with other men! It just didn't happen! It was biologically impossible. 

And look what he'd gotten for his troubles. His family disowning him, forbidding him ever to return to his own country for fear of shaming them. Well, at least they felt the shame. Hell, Jim felt it for him, too! But Blair? No, not him. Not the man who wore his hair long when all those around him shaved theirs so close to their heads. A man who had deliberately chosen an unconventional life as though to dare those around him to object - then twisted his personality around so that he might fit in with everyone else. The man who chose to live in the Raffles Hotel rather than get himself a home on this cursed island. A man who chose to ... sleep with other men while ... 

Jim stormed back inside, threw some more coals on the fire, slamming the cast-iron door shut, only to wince at the loud clang it made. 

Damn him! Damn him to hell! 

Why did he have to say anything? Why did he have to ruin it all? Why did he have to ... be ... that way ... 

"Oh, god!" 

Jim sank against the wall, holding his chest, trying desperately to breathe. 

Safe. He'd felt so safe around Blair, believing him to be ... innocent, that anything Jim might do, any move he might make, would only corrupt the beautiful man. The thought of doing such a terrible thing had held him back, stayed his hand, given him a perfect wall between himself and damnation. 

Only that wall had fallen down last night. 

And now he was faced with the raw reality that he wanted Blair like he'd never wanted anybody or anything else in his life before - and try as he might, being angry with the man would never really make him hate. Never that. 

Never. 

The wall at his shoulder shook as another blast of thunder rocked the foundations. Stunned, his hands shot to cover his ears, but it was too late. He slid to the ground, pain searing through his head, unable to stop it now, unable to control anything. 

Blair. Where was Blair? He needed Blair. To. Stop. The. Pain. 

Gasping, he dragged himself to his feet, stumbled to the door. He wrenched it open but there was no sign of the man. 

Slamming the door behind him, Jim lurched out into the rain. Within seconds he was drenched but for a while there was at least no more thunder, no lightning to blind him. 

"Blair! Blair! Where are you? Blair, answer me!" He called and called, afraid of listening too hard in case the next blast of thunder deafened him permanently. He called, knowing he wouldn't hear a response, but hoping Blair might find him. "Blair, please! Come back! Blair!" 

The jungle folded in around him, oozing with water and mud and overpowering him with scents too jumbled together to make any sense. The rain was cold, icy, hitting him, making his flesh numb. But still he went on, calling out until his voice was hoarse. 

Something in the air warned him and he shut his eyes tight against the sudden flash of lightning. By the time the thunder hit, his hands were over his ears and the shock was lessened. It still left him stumbling again, crashing into a tree. He fell badly, twisting his ankle, hitting his head against the trunk. Still he called out, his voice almost gone, almost pleading now. 

Where was he? God, was he alright? Was he safe? 

He'd come out here to escape Jim's censure, put himself in danger rather than face it. 

"Damn it, Chief, where are you?" But his voice was little more than a wail now, drowned out by the drowning rain, the voice in his head the only one making any noise. 

He'd done this. He'd pushed Blair into danger. All Blair had ever tried to do was help him - had even tried to keep the truth from him. 

Why? 

Jim sat up, turning until his back pressed against the tree. 

Why? 

Bracing his hands against it, he pushed himself up until he could stand. He tested his ankle and it took his weight - painfully - but he could walk. 

Why? 

Blair knew. 

Knew what he was feeling, understood what he felt about it. Understood. 

"Blair!" He bellowed again, pushing his lungs to make more noise. He stumbled forward again, limping, steadying himself with a hand out to anything that might help him balance. "Damn it Blair! Where are you?" 

"Jim?" 

He stopped, tried to listen, tried to find the direction of that distant call. He yelled again. 

"Jim? Are you okay? Can you hear me?" 

"Yes, I can hear you. I ..." 

And then the bushes before him rustled, were pushed aside and Blair was suddenly with him, eyes wide, clothes stuck to his body, chest heaving in air. "Jim, what the hell are you doing? God, you've cut your head ... " 

"You were out here so long," Jim replied, sagging against the tree, not caring how he showed his relief. All he knew was that Blair was okay, in one piece, already examining the cut on his head, his face so close. 

"God, if I'd known you were going to do something so stupid, I would have come back before. Hell, Jim, you could have got yourself killed!" 

"I came out here to find you!" Jim snapped, anger and relief and so many other things fraying his temper, nagging at the pain in his head. The last thing he needed right now was a damned lecture. 

"What the hell makes you think I wanted to be found, eh? You're not my damned keeper. I know these cliffs like the back of my hand. You however, are deafened by the thunder, blinded by the lightning and by the looks of it, almost freezing to death." Blair paused, pulling in air, his eyes bright in the semi-darkness. "And didn't it occur to you that I came out here because I wanted to get away from you?" 

That was too much. Jim lurched away from the tree, grabbing Blair's arms in a grip he knew would leave bruises. Blair tried to twist free, but Jim was never going to let him. Instead, he pushed him back, until he had him trapped against another wet trunk. "Listen to me! It's dangerous out here. Every minute we stand here, we're a target for lightning." 

"Then you go back inside!" 

"Not without you!" 

Blair's eyes flashed. "It's my damned life, Jim, stop trying to rule it for me! If I want to take a risk, then it's my risk to take. Not that you would know anything about it, the way you play everything so safe, the way you would rather die than risk learning how to control your senses, the way you would rather live in misery rather than confront how you feel about me!" 

Jim gripped him harder, shook him a little, "Stop it!" 

"It's so easy, isn't it? Learning how to hate yourself, now hating me. Go on, take it out on me. It's all my fault, isn't it? That you feel this way? I'm the perverted one, aren't I? I'm the shameless one who not only accepts what I am, but wants it. Wants you." Blair hauled in a breath. "But you can't do that, can you? Hell, you can't even accept that you're a sentinel, let alone a ..." 

"Stop it!" 

"It scares you, doesn't it? You're so damned scared!" 

"I'm not scared!" 

"No?" Blair looked up. "Then kiss me!" 

Jim let go - but his feet didn't take him back, didn't take him away. He just stood there, looking at that beautiful face, wet with rain, those eyes that never left his. 

The anger was gone. He hadn't seen it leave. There was only the fear remaining behind, like an old friend, keeping him steady, making him breathe hard. 

Blair was trembling, shivering perhaps, waiting, just waiting, saying nothing, already having driven one knife into Jim after another. Just waiting. 

And Jim moved, his hands replaced to those arms, lighter now, a caress, smoothing drenched cotton across cold skin. Alone, his hands tried to convey something, anything, just a few words so Blair would know that this wasn't just fear. This was ... impossible ... 

So his hands kept moving, sliding up Blair's throat where he could actually feel the cold flesh against his own, sense the warmth beneath it, the pulse, the steady beating of life. Up to the jaw, to cradle that face, oh, that face so wonderful, so needed, so carved into him now, as though it had always been there. His thumb came out and across, touching so lightly the lips, parted a little, drawing in air, letting it out. He pressed harder, his own skin requiring closer contact. 

Blair didn't move under his caresses, only blinking when the rain hit his face, falling through the trees above. 

When the words came, Jim almost believed they issued from his own mind, rather than Blair's. 

"Kiss me, Jim." 

And his reply, soft, softer than the rain, "Okay." 

And the war inside him slowly rose, as he moved his head, lowered it, drew it near this one, breathed in the same air, exhaled, drew in, completed, mended and made whole. The fire tore up his spine, erupting in his gut and his head at the same time. Terrible fire, searing and incinerating everything in its path. He - 

_wanted_. 

His face came close, hands lifting those lips towards him. He was so close, he could almost taste Blair, almost feel him ... almost feel ... 

With a gasp, he let Blair go, stepping back, almost broken. He dragged in a ragged breath, shaking, shaking his head, shaking inside ... So close, so near. 

He couldn't do it. Couldn't. Too long. Too many years. To much hurt. Too much damage ... 

He loved this man. 

Impossible. "I'm sorry." And with that epitaph, he turned and pushed his way through the brush, heading for the house, leaving his sanity behind. 

* * *

Blair let his eyes drift from the book in his hands, drift once more to the empty space on the floor beside his bed. A huge vacant space between him and the wall, lit with a yellow glow from the hurricane lantern he'd lit at dusk. Outside, the rain rattled against the tin roof, a constant stream now, no wind, no thunder. Just rain. Like it would never stop. 

This was the monsoon now. The season of rain. For the next few months, every day would see this rain, pelting down, mostly in the afternoon, sometimes in the morning - and sometimes like this, going on for hours and hours, long into the night. It would become a constant in life, something to be worked around, something to be lived with. The locals would put out barrels and bowls, collect as much rain water as they could, wash everything in sight, dig channels across the muddy paths in their kampongs to reduce flooding, add extra roof tiles to stay dry at night. It was a living thing, the monsoon, predictable, understood and unavoidable. 

He heard Jim moving around in the other room, but didn't turn. He wouldn't see anything through the door anyway. Jim had moved his bed in there, up against the wall opposite the table, no longer able to stand being within sight of Blair. 

Deliberately, Blair forced his eyes to look at the words again. He couldn't sleep. The rain didn't bother him but the absence of Jim did. The absence, the emptiness. 

The rejection. 

Humiliating rejection. 

He'd had no idea it could hurt this bad, this much - and for him, it was something new. Jim had been living this his whole life. But that was no excuse. By now, he should have learned something about it, discovered for himself that it was this, this _agony_ that was wrong - nothing else. 

Footsteps approached his door, stopped there, waited, expectant. Blair said nothing. He had nothing else to say. Nothing left to do but hurt and hurt back. 

"Are you hungry?" Jim's voice cut across the rain, sharp, like a blade. 

"No." 

"Blair," Jim snapped, still angry, still lashing out. "Can't you make some attempt to understand?' 

Keeping rigidly to his place, his back to Jim, his face averted, Blair replied, "Oh, I understand perfectly, Jim. You're a coward and I disgust you. Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?" 

Nothing but silence greeted his words. And then the footsteps moved away and Blair stared at the words on the page before him. 

Truth was, he didn't really understand at all. 

* * *

A despicably cheery sun beamed in through the windows and cracks in the walls, forcing Blair to open his eyes to meet the morning. He shifted onto his back, then cursed when he found a book digging into his shoulder blades. He pulled it out, tossed it to one side and sat up. 

There was no sound in the house, no banging outside. Just a gentle tugging breeze lifting the odd sheet of roof tin up and down. 

He got up, pulled some clothes on and headed into the kitchen. Jim's bed was folded up and pushed to one side, to leave room to move. The stove was hot, but the coffee was old, so he set about making some more. He was almost done when he heard the car drive up. 

Pulling his hair back, he went to the door to find Jim taking parcels out of the back seat. He started when he saw Blair but didn't look away. 

"I went shopping. Bought some fish. Thought it might be nice for breakfast." 

For a moment, Blair didn't know what to say. Was Jim just going to pretend nothing had happened? Like he always did? Like he'd done his entire life? Pretend? Hope it will go away? 

Did he hope Blair would go away? 

Jim came forward, his parcels under his arm. "Chief? Is fish okay?" 

"Fish is fine," Blair replied, his voice leaden. Yeah, that's exactly what Jim was going to do. Pretend, hope, pray. Whatever. 

He turned to go back inside but Jim made him pause. 

"Blair, listen." 

"What?" 

"I ... " 

"Don't even think of saying you're sorry!" Blair snapped, unable to quell the need to. 

"Okay, I won't. But ... look, can we just ... leave it today? I mean, I thought I was getting somewhere with that dial thing yesterday. And you have that party to go to tonight. Can't we just ..." 

"Pretend?" Blair turned around to face him, trying to read something in those eyes, something, anything he might want to see. 

"Please, Blair - I need to work on this, you know that. You said I needed practice. You said you'd help. You said you were my guide." 

"Oh, that's low, Jim, really low. I expected better of you." 

"What?" Jim's own anger flared. "You won't help me because I won't sleep with you? Is that it?" 

"You bastard!" Blair gasped in horror, turned and fled inside. 

"What the hell else am I supposed to think?" Jim followed him into the kitchen, dumping his things on the bench. "Well? Is that the real deal here?" 

As Jim came up behind him, Blair whirled around and pushed him back, pushed him until he stopped against the bench. "How dare you suggest that I'd ... I'd ... " Blair paused only long enough to suck in a breath, hoping to god it would calm him enough to avoid hitting this man. When he could speak again, his voice was more steady but no less cutting. "Listen, Ellison - _you_ wanted me to tell you the truth, okay? I didn't bring the subject up, I didn't want to talk about it - so don't go accusing me of things you know nothing about!" 

Obviously still angry, Jim held his hands up, grunting an apology, "Okay, okay, I'm sorry." 

But the words only made Blair's skin crawl. "Stay away from me, do you hear? Yes, I'll help you - and I never suggested for one minute that I wouldn't. But you just stay away! I don't want to hear another word from you about anything unless it's to do with your senses. Now make the damned breakfast! I'm going to take a bath. When I come out, you are going to be so polite to me it's going to make my stomach turn. Do you understand!" 

Jim nodded silently, his eyes flat, hiding his own anger. Blair left him then, left him before he did some real physical damage. 

He'd never realized before how good self-hatred would feel. 

* * *

Jim carefully lifted the iron from the top of the stove, checked underneath before taking it to the shirt. Once more, he smoothed it over the delicate fabric, easing out creases borne of packing. Back and forth, again and again, turning the cloth and pressing it flat before the iron grew cold. 

It was a beautiful shirt. Blair had picked it out for him. Dark blue silk with laces at the throat. Something he would never have chosen for himself. It was more like a costume than something a man would wear every day - but Blair had insisted, as he'd almost danced around the tailor's shop, that this was the very thing to wear to this party. 

He put the iron back on the stove and waited for it to heat up again. Not too hot, or it would ruin the fabric, burn streaks into it, make it unwearable. One more run over with the iron and he would be ready. He was already dressed in trousers, shoes; bathed and shaved. 

Just what he was ready for was another matter. He didn't want to go to this party, but he knew he had to. Had to at least go along with it, keep pretending that he and Blair could work together. 

He'd made such a bad mistake. How could he have accused Blair of ... Hell, what an idiot - and he'd ruined everything, all by himself. But apologizing wasn't going to make it better. 

It seemed impossible to think that only a few weeks ago, he'd never even met the man, was still wallowing in grief for senses - for a body that would so happily betray him. It still did, on a regular basis - but now, he had more control. At least he had the beginnings of control over his senses. 

Over his desires, he had very little. Blair only needed to come near him now and he began to shake inside, his body warming to thoughts his mind refused to contemplate. His ears would pick up sounds, Blair's heartbeat, the steady rushing noise of his breathing. Scents would plague him, making him hard, sending his concentration spiralling into areas he couldn't go near. 

It had been a difficult day. Was likely to be an even more difficult night. 

For days now, his dreams had plagued him. So many different dreams, all with Blair in them, naked, beautiful, moaning beneath him. Dreams that left him drenched in sweat, hard, dizzy and frustrated. In every one, the choice to sleep with Blair had been a simple one, easy to take, to reach out. And in them, Blair was always willing, wanting him with an equal force. And yet the promise his dreams held always seemed to incorporate what he knew was wrong, always involved what his mind kept telling him was nothing more than a perversion on his part. 

Blair was a man and no matter what Jim felt, having sex with him was wrong. 

Out there, in the storm, he'd known he could have Blair, right then and there. Could have taken him to bed, made love to him, held him in his arms and treasured him. For a moment, he could have had all of that. 

Now - now he had nothing but the man's hatred and loathing. Now Blair wouldn't touch him unless his life depended on it. Three times today he'd blanked out - and three times, Blair had brought him back, his touch, his voice the only things linking Jim to the real world. 

And now he couldn't even tell Blair how much that meant to him, couldn't voice words that would tell the man how much Jim needed him. 

He took the iron again, running it for the last time over the collar of the shirt, finishing it off. He could hear Blair getting ready in the next room, hear a comb running through that glorious, long hair. It looked so good when it was down. Blair wore it up too often, for the sake of polite society. Would he wear it down tonight? 

Jim placed the iron aside to let it cool and slipped the shirt on, tucking it into his trousers. He loved the feel of it on his skin. Was that why Blair had insisted on silk? Because he knew Jim would like it? 

"That looks ..." 

He glanced up to find Blair in the doorway, stunning in white cabled shirt and black trousers, a jacket in his hands. His hair was down. 

"What? Does it look okay?" 

Blair's gaze swept over him, rising finally to meet Jim's. Open, defiant, perhaps a little afraid. "It looks wonderful, Jim. You look wonderful." 

Jim swallowed. If only he didn't like that absorbing gaze so much. If only his body didn't respond so well to it. If only he hadn't wanted to know how good he looked to Blair. 

And he wanted so much to say the same thing to Blair - but the words wouldn't come out, stayed stuck in his throat like a fishbone, choking him. 

"Let's go?" 

Nodding, Jim grabbed his jacket and followed Blair out to the car. Blair got behind the wheel and soon they were bumping along the track, the car lights showing a lush green slice of the universe. 

The drive was long and silent; the dirt roads attacked by monsoon rain making them travel slowly. They reached paved road after a while so at least it was a little more comfortable. A dozen times Jim tried to bring together a sentence, a question, something safe for them to talk about \- but everything he could come up with sounded trite and insincere to him and would appear even worse to Blair. 

So he said nothing and tried to ignore the pain he could see on Blair's face now. Pain he knew he'd put there. 

It took an hour of silence to get to Changi Village. Blair drove confidently along the roads and not for the first time, Jim wondered what these other friends would be like. Blair had refused to talk about them since that first time - and in truth, Jim's curiosity was aroused. 

The house sat on the outskirts of town, on a hill overlooking the sea. The place was huge, at the end of a long drive. More money, more manicured lawns illuminated by bamboo lamps sending smoke up into the night. He could hear music playing even before the car stopped. Blair parked the car next to one of many others, switched the engine off and turned to face Jim. 

"Listen. I want you to be careful in here tonight, okay? There'll be a lot of noise, smoke, stuff like that. If it gets too much for you, just go outside. I won't be able to stick with you all night but if you do think you're going to blank out, try to find me, okay? Or just come out here to the car. I'll find you." 

"Okay." 

Blair's took the door handle but paused before getting out, "And Jim? Be polite to these people, will you?" 

He was out of the car before Jim could say anything. He didn't argue. After all, Blair did have a point. He got out, locked the door and followed Blair inside. Bright lights exploded around him, along with the noise of music; jazz, blaring out from the other end of the enormous room. Crystal chandeliers sparkled above, bouncing the echo of a hundred voices around his head. 

Blair stayed close, his hand never more than a few inches from Jim's arm, wary in these first important minutes. But then they were through the press of people, to those who greeted Blair as though he were their best friend. Both men and women hugged him, laughed at his words, were introduced to Jim, shook his hand. All so similar, so normal - except for the fact that these people were nothing like those he'd met before. 

The first and most obvious clue were the clothes they wore. Bright and colourful, pleasing to the eye. Few of the men wore suits. Instead, they were dressed much as Jim was, in shirts of various shades, little in the way of ties and jackets. 

The smoke of cigarettes cast a blanket in the air above them, eternally mixed with the scent of heavy perfumes - worn by both men and women. 

No, these people were different from any he'd met before. These were artists and musicians, writers and poets. Blair identified each one as they were introduced - though Jim registered none of the names. Just an endless stream of faces, sculptured in make-up, smiling, genuine, obviously delighted to see Blair, equally happy to see Jim with him. Blair was again a different person here, deliberately bright and vivacious. He seemed to pick the parts of himself he could wear in different public arenas. A chameleon. 

It wasn't until the third or fourth time it happened that he really noticed it. Saw the way people looked at him - then looked at Blair, speculation in their eyes - and not a little envy. 

These people thought he and Blair ... were ... a couple! 

He grabbed Blair's elbow and leaned down. "I'm going outside." 

Blair looked up, concern in his eyes. "You okay?" 

"Fine. Just the smoke. You stay." 

Jim couldn't wait any longer. He wound a path through the crowd and headed towards the wall where huge French windows led outdoors. There was a patio here, buffet with drinks and food, some tables and chairs. Still plenty of people around, laughing, drinking, enjoying themselves as though this were all perfectly ... 

Normal. 

Perfectly normal. 

He found a seat on the grass, a concrete bench beside a pond cast with huge white lilies. All quite normal, quite ordinary in a beautiful kind of way. Certainly very normal for the wealthy. 

A waiter approached him, a tray of drinks in his hands. Jim took a glass of champagne without thinking, sipping it, keeping his gaze on the other people around him. He was virtually alone in his little spot, but there were a few groups here and there, enjoying the cooler air outside. Not that it was much cooler. The heat had been oppressive all day and he could feel the damp silk of his shirt sticking to his back. 

A burst of laughter made him glance back at the house. A table on the patio. Eight or so people sitting around it; the source of the noise. He almost looked away again - but something caught his eye. Two men, seated beside each other, holding hands. Another burst of laughter and one leaned towards the other, brushing a gentle kiss on a cheek. 

Normal. Nobody said a word about it. Nobody even noticed. 

But Jim noticed. Noticed Blair emerge from the house and get caught up by those at the table. He seemed to know all of them considering the fuss his arrival caused. With another gust of communal laughter, Blair was pulled on to the lap of a blonde man and Jim had no choice but to ... dial up his hearing. He simply had to know what was being said. 

" ... and we thought you were never going to get here, my sweet. Wherever have you been? Please, please don't tell us you've been working." 

"Well, I have," Blair chuckled, completely at home on the big man's lap, his arm around the other man's shoulder, unconcerned by the arms around his waist. He was smiling, happy, but even here there were differences, parts of Blair Jim had seen which weren't now on display. Parts of Blair Jim now missed. "Unlike some, I don't need to spend week after week, still trying to learn how to water-ski. Honestly Bruno, the things I've heard about you and that boat!" 

"We're thinking of buying him an anchor, to keep him out of trouble," A woman across the table said. 

"Or perhaps some chains, to keep him on land," another voice added - to another burst of laughter. "No, no, he'd enjoy that too much!" 

Bruno pretended to scowl, pressing his forehead against Blair's cheek. He spoke again, softly, testing Jim's hearing. "By the way, did you know Carl's here tonight?" 

"Oh. Great." Blair didn't sound particularly happy to hear that news \- but Bruno had moved on already, changing the subject. 

"So, my little beauty, are you going make me a happy man and grace my bed tonight?" 

Jim went cold inside. 

"Sorry, B, but I'm here with a friend. I'll be going back to the house tonight." 

"A friend? Somebody I know?" 

"No." 

"What, are you saying you've found someone?" 

Blair's smile drew a little rough, "No, nothing like that. He's working with me for a while. We'll be going back to the city in a few days." 

"Well, perhaps I'll catch up with you then, eh?" Bruno was all seductiveness and gentle caresses and finally, Jim tore his gaze away, turned his hearing down. 

Normal. 

Yeah, right. Like this felt normal. This ... ache inside him. Cold hard fear. Seeing Blair like that, seeing somebody else want him, seeing somebody else touch him. 

Sure, very normal. 

Normal that Blair had said no? Why didn't he say yes? Why didn't he just show Jim a map to get back to the house and stay with this man? There was an obvious attraction between them - and Bruno certainly wanted Blair with him tonight. 

But what did it feel like? To be able to do that? To actually be able to sit there, with Blair on his lap, joke with him, simply enjoy his company while showing obvious affection. Did that _feel_ normal? 

What would it feel like if he called Blair over, if he sat here with his arm around the man? How would it feel to find nobody noticing? After all, so many people already assumed they were together - so it was unlikely they would say a word. 

But could he do it? Just try it out? Just to see if it did feel normal? And what would Blair say if he did? Probably hate him for it, for being used like that. With good reason. 

Acceptance. 

That was the word Blair had used. Talking about his family, his own struggle with what he was. He asked for, no, demanded acceptance - and with these people, he had it. At least, he had acceptance of his sexuality. These people knew what he was and accepted him because of it. 

But was that all Blair wanted? 

"You're American, aren't you?" 

The voice startled him and he looked up to find a man his own age standing before him, champagne glass in one hand, long cigarette in the other. He was Blair's height, a handsome yet unremarkable face on a body fit and well-developed. 

"That's right." 

"You came with Blair?" 

"Yes." 

The man glanced over to the table where Blair still sat with his friends. "He's quite a beauty, isn't he?" 

Jim had no trouble in agreeing. "He is." 

"I'm Carl Flesham, by the way. An old friend of Blair's." 

Jim noted there was no hand held out, no warmth in the introduction. This man was a cold fish, looking down at Jim as though he were an insect. He refrained from giving his own name. 

"I suppose you're the new lover, eh?" Flesham raised a perfect eyebrow. "Not his usual type, I must say." 

"Oh?" Jim ground the word out, "What's his usual type?" 

"Young, pretty, innocent. He has quite a reputation. Something of a flirt, is our sweet Blair." 

Jim said nothing, disliking this man more and more as each word oozed out of his hand-carved mouth. 

"Though I must say, I never realized he'd go for the rough and rugged type. Do you find him as demanding in bed as I did?" 

Jim got to his feet, deliberately towering over Flesham. 

"Oooh, have I hit a nerve?" Flesham smiled, sickly and reserved. "You didn't think he was a virgin did you? Come now, he must have told you about me? After all, we were lovers for three months. That's about his usual term, so I feel I did well." 

Jim flexed his hands, wanting, needing to do something to this worm, something to wipe that supercilious smile from his disgusting face. 

Flesham continued, obviously enjoying himself, "How long have you been fucking him? Or ... no, don't tell me you _haven't_ yet? Oh, but you must! He is such a master at seduction. Delights in playing hard to get \- until he has you wound around his little finger. But then, from the first kiss you are lost. Hopelessly lost. Wait for it, my big American, wait for it. It will come. And when it does, make the most of it. You'll be denying yourself all sorts of pleasures if you never taste him at least once in your life." 

"Carl!" 

Blair's voice cut across Jim's fury as he stormed up to them, keeping it banked, keeping it ready. 

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" 

Flesham took a smug sip of his champagne and regarded Blair with little more than mild amusement. "Why, just talking to your new bedmate. I didn't see you come in - but I knew he simply had to belong to you. Or should I say, soon-to-be bedmate - as I suspect you haven't quite managed to get him between the sheets yet." 

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Blair demanded. "And did I hear right? Did you tell Jim you and I had been lovers for three months?" 

"Well," Flesham waved his glass in the air, utterly impervious to Blair's fury. "I might have exaggerated a little." 

"A little?" Blair hissed. "One week, Carl. One miserable week - and I regretted every minute of it! I told you before never to come near me again. That goes for my friends, too." 

"Oh, so lovely when you're angry, so fiery. Such a pity it was only the one week. I would have tamed you in two." 

"Carl ..." 

"Please, darling, I'm only having a little fun here. Just chatting to this lovely, big piece of meat you have dangling on your line. What's wrong? Just a little jealous?" 

"Carl, so help me, if you don't shut up, I'll ..." 

"What?" Carl enquired, arching an eyebrow again. "Hit me? You, the great pacifist?" 

"No," Jim grunted, "me, the big piece of meat." And with that, he swung out, punching the man's chin so hard, Flesham stumbled back, falling flat on the ground. Without pausing, Jim turned to Blair, grabbed his hand and began walking. 

"Come on, we're getting out of here." 

"Jim, wait, I have to see if he's okay ..." 

"He'll be okay. I didn't hit him hard enough to do real damage - unfortunately." He walked around the house, ignoring the shocked voices, the people rushing outside to see what the fuss was. He just kept going, until they were at the car. Blair fumbled in his pocket for the keys, his gaze darting to Jim and back. 

"Look, Jim, you shouldn't have ..." 

"No, _you_ should have - but you wouldn't because you're just too damned good. How long has he been doing that to you? How long ago was that week? No, you would just let him say those things about you, hoping to reason him out of it, maybe teach him that _accepting_ his jealously was a form of forgiveness, hoping that one day, he'll turn into a nice man. Well, Chief, I know people like him - and they never change. They're twisted up inside, hurting everything they don't understand, everything they can't have. And if you thought for one minute that I was going to stand there and let him talk about you like you were a whore, you obviously don't know me very well. Now get in the damned car before I go back, correct my mistake and break the bastard's jaw." 

Blair got in the car, unlocking the door for Jim. They were on the road, heading away from the village before Blair said another word. When he did, his tone was tentative, "It was three years ago. With Carl. Back when I first got here." 

Jim kept his gaze on the road, focusing on the wide spread of the headlights. "So you've let him torment you for three years, eh? Only fighting back with words." 

Shaking his head, Blair continued doggedly, "Jim ... I don't want you to think that ... well, I didn't hear everything he said, but I can imagine. I just don't want you to think that ... well, that it was ..." 

"True?" Jim grunted. "Makes no difference to me what he said, Chief, whether it's true or not. That's not the point." 

"Oh. Okay, then." 

Blair said nothing else after that and Jim relaxed into the silence, deliberately enjoying his aching knuckles. It had been a long time since it had felt so good hitting someone. 

* * *

The hours of exercises were long over when Blair finally spread out on the rug with the book he wanted to finish. It was yet another hot, sultry day, where only the breeze off the water kept it mildly bearable. This spot was pretty much secluded from nearby kampongs, no passing traffic to speak of - so today he'd relented and worn shorts, a tank top and sandals. It felt good to let his skin soak up a bit of sun. 

>From his position on the cliff he could see down to the rocky beach and the tiny figure of Jim in the distance, pursuing his great project. The morning after the party, Jim had gone for a run at low tide and found some fishing wire bound up around a piece of driftwood. He'd brought the whole thing back and had spent hours untangling it, winding around one end of the driftwood. Next, he'd disappeared into the jungle only to return two hours later with a long, fine piece of bamboo. 

Blair had let him work as they completed the exercises, often using the emerging fishing rod as part of the process. Eventually, it was finished. Today, the moment Blair had called an end to work, Jim had picked up his fishing rod, thrown him a smile and headed down to the beach. 

Things were different. And the fact that he couldn't work out why bothered him. He'd sat and watched Jim's infinite patience as he'd disentangled the fishing wire, no doubt using his superior sight to his advantage. He'd watched Jim go through one exercise after another, sometimes doing well, at others, not. Jim even got frustrated and irritated when things got bad - and yet, there was still something different. Between them. 

In the two days since the party, neither had spoken a word about it. Not once had Jim asked him about Carl - and yet, Blair almost wished he would. Wished he would ask for the truth, find out what it was Carl was being so cruel about. And yet, would it really make a difference? 

Well, for a start, Blair didn't want Jim thinking that kind of thing about him, didn't want him believing that Blair jumped into bed with any man who offered - and especially not a man like Carl. But if he brought the subject up, himself, it would sound like he was trying to justify himself - and he refused to do that - especially to Jim. 

So what had changed? Was Jim still angry with him? Was he still angry with Jim? He didn't know any more. All he did know was that some kind of balance had been redrawn, somewhere between them - and it appeared to be enough to keep them working on Jim's senses without ripping each other apart. 

His eyes fell on the words again and he realized he'd read the same line five times now. With half a laugh at himself, he snapped the book shut and put his head down on his hands, closing his eyes. He didn't want to go to sleep or he'd burn. But it did feel nice to just lie here and rest. 

He heard whistling. 

Frowning, he glanced up to find Jim climbing up the path towards him, a big fish in his makeshift net, rod over his shoulder, a silly grin on his face. "Look what I got!" 

Blair chuckled as he came over, not getting up, not volunteering help. "You do realize that fish is totally poisonous. We eat it, we die." 

Jim's face fell. "Oh, hell, no! You're kidding!" 

"Actually, yes." 

Jim kicked sand on his legs. "Just for that, you get the smaller helping." 

Blair sat up, wiping the sand away, unable to help laughing. "Why didn't you clean it down there?" 

"I wanted you to see how big it was first. We've got water. I'll clean it now. Yum, supper." 

And the whistling resumed as Jim continued into the house, leaving Blair smiling after him. 

He picked up his book again and this time, actually read a whole chapter. It was the last reference he'd found on anything even remotely to do with sentinels - but it didn't tell him anything he didn't already know. He leafed through the rest of the book and found nothing else of interest so put it aside. Jim returned then, bringing bottles of beer and plumped himself down on the grass. 

"There's something I've been meaning to ask you," he said, taking a swift mouthful of beer. "You said way back in the beginning, that a sentinel would live on the outskirts of a village, keeping watch or something." 

"That was Burton's claim." 

"Well, what would he do? A sentinel, I mean." 

"Well," Blair folded his hands around his bottle. "In the primitive world, having somebody who could spot danger a long way off would be deemed pretty valuable. Somebody who could spot game for the tribe, who could smell fire in the jungle long before it threatened the village. Could hear a war party preparing to attack - things like that." 

"That doesn't leave me much room to move, does it?" 

"Well, you joined the army, didn't you? Became a policeman? Protecting and serving the community. A modern equivalent of the primitive sentinel." 

"But why me? How did I get like this?" 

"Jim, you were born like this. Nothing made you this way. You said you'd been having trouble with your senses since you were a kid." 

"Not all the time. They came and went." 

"Which might have had something to do with the chemical changes the body goes through during puberty. I'm not sure science has the methodology yet to prove it one way or the other." Blair paused, debating internally whether he should say this or not. 

Jim noticed his hesitation. "What?" 

"You might not want to hear it." 

"I think I've already heard the worst you can tell me." 

Blair looked away at that, his face burning. 

"Oh, Chief, I didn't mean it like that. Really, I didn't. I just mean that, if we can survive something like that well ... oh, shit, I'm just getting myself in deeper here." 

He got up then, would have walked away but Blair stopped him, swallowing down the renewed pain. It seemed nothing had changed after all. "Wait. I'll tell you. I just wanted to warn you. Okay?" 

"Okay." Jim paused before sitting down, nowhere near as relaxed as he had been a moment ago. 

"What you are," Blair began, not turning, not flinching, not doing anything but giving Jim the bare facts, flat and even. "Is a product of nature. Sentinels were designed by nature to best serve the greater good of the tribe. As we've become more sophisticated, we've needed fewer and fewer \- though for all we know, there could be hundreds living in remote areas in South America and Africa." 

"But I have no ancestors from anywhere like that." 

"That doesn't matter, Jim. The point is, what you are ... is, like I said, a product of nature. Being a sentinel is, well, natural." He paused, quickly sucking in a breath before Jim could argue. "In fact, you're the perfect example of how well nature works. We live in a turbulent world. For all we know, nature has started giving us more sentinels because we need them now. Of course, unless I start advertising for people with heightened senses, I guess I'll never be able to prove that theory. I just don't want you to think that, well, that being a sentinel is a bad thing." 

"It could be, if people found out about it, tried to abuse it." 

"True." 

"And what about the guide?" 

Now Blair did turn, seeing only serious interest on Jim's face. "I don't know. I suppose just about anybody could be a guide. Probably chosen by lot or something." 

"No. I don't think so." 

"Why not?" 

Jim got to his feet, ready to go cook dinner. "I've had this problem all my life. You're the first person I've met who's given me some control over it. I think if sentinels are natural, then guides must be in the same way. Born to it. I'll go put that fish on the grill. I'm hungry." 

And with that, he vanished inside, leaving Blair stunned - and speechless. 

* * *

It was the same dream again. He knew it so well now, he knew it was a dream. Knew he was asleep and couldn't control it. Knew how it would end. 

The panther stalked him. No matter where he went, what he did, he saw it out of the corner of his eye. 

He tried running, again, tried hiding, tried asking Blair for help. And Blair turned to him, a smile in his eyes, arms open - and Jim went straight to him, touching those lips with his own, feeling that body melt against him. 

You do not belong. 

Here. 

And Blair pulled away from him, horror on his face, disgust at what Jim had just done, disgust and disdain, pity, hatred filling his eyes, clawing at him inside, tearing him to shreds. 

As Blair backed away, the panther sprang, toppling the smaller man as though he were scythed wheat. Blair's screams were silenced too quickly, his body cold too soon. 

The panther looked up, blinking at Jim, smiling, satisfied - and then it moved away. 

Jim fell beside Blair's body, holding him, afraid to touch. No pulse, no heartbeat, crumbling to ashes until he held nothing at all. 

Putting his head back, Jim screamed - 

and woke to the silence once more. Frozen for a moment, he tried to breathe but it took long seconds before his lungs would function. 

He rolled onto his side, facing the wall. Eyes wide open, he deliberately stopped himself from examining the wooden slats too closely. 

Carefully, he dialled his hearing up a little, then a little more until he could find what he needed to find. Blair, sound asleep in the next room. Safe, alive. Yeah, he was okay. Alive. 

Only then did Jim begin to relax again, settle on the hard mat. 

Hell, what were these dreams trying to tell him? Was that their purpose \- to let him know something, understand something he couldn't while he was awake? Or were they just sent to hasten him towards insanity. 

Nights like this sure made it feel that way. 

The panther and Blair were always in the same dreams now, had been since the first time he'd dreamt of the animal. But at the same time, dreams of his senses flying wildly out of control had disappeared. Why? Because Blair was teaching him how to focus them properly? Because he was finally finding some way through the maze? 

So, Blair was having a beneficial affect on his dreams - in regards to the senses at least. So why did the panther still haunt him? Why did it go on killing Blair - not just every night, but every time Jim went to sleep? 

Blair didn't deserve to die - especially not by Jim's panther. Next time he had that dream, Jim would have to try harder to save Blair, make himself move. 

And perhaps next time he talked to Blair, he should tell him about the dreams - or at least the part about the panther. The dreams of him making love to Blair were another matter entirely. 

He closed his eyes again, willing his body to slow down and relax, keeping a mental finger on Blair's presence in the other room. There wasn't much point in denying it - at least to himself. He not only loved the man, but needed him. Needed him to sleep, needed him to wake. Somehow, hope had come to him in the shape of Blair Sandburg. How long it would stay around was anybody's guess. 

* * *

Jim stood ankle deep in the water, attempting to keep his balance and cast his rod at the same time. It took a little practice, swinging the line over his shoulder, trying not to catch his makeshift hook on Blair sitting on the shore, and still get it far enough out into the water to have a chance at snagging another fish as he had yesterday. 

This was the best time to do this, just on dusk. This was fish feeding time, when the larger prospective meals rose closer to the surface, when the sky was a little darker, obscuring a baited hook. 

It had been a long day. They'd gone walking in the morning, west, along the cliffs while Blair both tested him and got him to practice dialling his senses both up and down. He was actually getting quite good at it now - managing it most of the time, when he concentrated. Certainly so much better than a few weeks ago. He'd even missed the thunder last night, coping to the point of being able to go to sleep while it rattled on around him. In the morning, when he saw the dark shadows around Blair's eyes, he actually apologized that Blair couldn't also turn down his hearing. 

The other man had laughed. Almost hysterically. Had left Jim with a grin on his face for most of the day. 

Making Blair laugh was definitely a good thing. Hearing Blair laugh was good, also. In fact, just about everything about Blair was good, both inside and out. Good soul, good heart. Despite the many and varied ways Jim had hurt him, he still stayed, still worked to help Jim, did his best on so many different levels. 

Was that part of being born a guide? Or was it part of being born Blair? Was Blair a guide simply because he _was_ Blair? 

Did Jim love him because Blair was his guide - or because he loved Blair, the man? 

It was no longer possible to ignore this feeling. Being around Blair prevented him from doing anything more than pretend - and being around Blair _forced_ him to pretend. Pretend that he wasn't attracted to that beauty, wasn't aroused by being close to him, wasn't affected by the hot, tumultuous daydreams he had on an hourly basis. He was under a spell of desire, Blair's very presence his puppeteer. And all he wanted ... all he wanted was to ... make love to the man. 

That's what his dreams kept telling him, the dreams he had in between the nightmares. Night after night. Compounding the error of his thoughts, his hidden desires, needs he had refused to acknowledge all his life. Always before he'd found some way to control it, some means by which to refuse what had occasionally been offered him. He had hated and despised those men, hated and despised himself even more. 

But he neither hated nor despised Blair. He loved Blair. Loved Blair and hated himself. He knew that now, acknowledged it, accepted it. But in the end, it actually only made him want to touch Blair even more. 

And each day, there were more and more moments when he found himself tested to the limits and only the gravest determination on his part kept him from taking the man in his arms. 

He took another step forward, deeper into the water and cast his line again. He chanced a glance over his shoulder to find Blair where he'd left him, sitting on a rock, hunched over yet another book, squinting through his glasses in the dwindling light. He was such an easy person to be with, even when he was being pushy. Easy to think about, much as he'd been doing all day. "Come on, Chief, that's enough for one day, isn't it? It's too dark for you to read." 

Blair glanced up with a grin, "Well, you could always read it to me. It's not too dark for you, is it?" 

"Be fair. You know I can't pronounce half the words in those books you love so much. I'd end up sounding stupid." 

"Wouldn't be the first time." 

Jim chuckled and turned back to his fishing, "Not likely to be the last time, either." 

"Only you're not stupid, you know?" He heard Blair put the book down and pull off his shoes, glasses landing inside one. The sand squeaked beneath him as he came closer to the waterline. "Anything biting? Or are we having leftovers for dinner?" 

"Seems the primitive in me isn't having much luck tonight." 

"Well, perhaps you could try using your senses to see if there are any fish down there." 

"You're a genius, do you know that?" Jim shook his head, laughing. "Now why didn't I think of that? I'll just dial up my fish-seeking sense and we'll be away." 

Blair had to wade into the water to punch his shoulder. In reply, Jim splashed him, getting his tank top wet. Blair just stood there, shaking his head, pursing his lips. "Yeah, I was certainly right about the primitive bit." 

"You guides should know it's dangerous to disturb a primitive when he's fishing." 

"But I want to have a swim. I'm not walking up that cliff hot and sticky like this, thanks." 

"Well, have a swim," Jim offered generously. 

"This is the only bit of beach we have." 

"Your point being?" 

"You have a dirty big fishing hook wafting around in _my_ swimming water." 

"Now, there's a thought," Jim shot back, deadpan. "You'd probably go very well grilled in herbs beside a bowl of boiled rice." He got splashed for his trouble. "Hey, I'm trying to provide for us here. Show a little respect." 

"Disrespect would have got you drowned. Please, Jim? I want to swim. Can't you stop for just a minute?" 

"Can't you wait until I've caught dinner before you swim?" 

"I could wait until next Tuesday." 

"You rich kids are so impatient." 

This time the splash was enormous, filling Jim's mouth with water. He coughed and spluttered, dropping his fishing rod in the process. His eyes stung and he let out a groan. 

"Oh, hell, Jim, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ... look, do the dial thing. Your sense of touch, turn it down. It won't hurt if you do." 

Jim waited until he was nice and close - then reached out and dunked him beneath the water. He didn't leave him down there more than a second \- but Blair was doing a fair impersonation of his own coughing and spluttering. 

"I don't know, even my own guide doesn't take me seriously. What's the world coming to?" 

Blair regained his balance, pushing the hair away from his face and regarding Jim with laughter in his eyes. "Well, so much for my swim - and your fishing. Go on, reel the line in. You're not going to catch anything now." 

Jim grinned, "Okay, okay. Go on, have your swim." 

He waded over to where his rod was floating on the gently rising water and pulled the line in, winding it around the post he'd attached to the rod. He walked to the sand, laying it down well away from the waterline. When he turned back, it was just in time to see Blair strip off his tank top and dive into the water. The wet garment landed at Jim's feet with a squelch. 

Shrugging, Jim pulled his own shirt off and waded in for a swim. It was hot. Too hot, in fact. Hot enough to rain again tonight. 

So this was the monsoon. Sweltering heat alternating with blistering thunder storms. An assault on at least three of his senses at any one time. 

He dived into the water, revelling in the cool spread of silkiness across his whole body. He'd always loved swimming, spending so many childhood weekends on the beaches around Cascade. But this was different here. The water was warmer, tasted sweeter in some way he couldn't define. He should probably tell Blair about it, make him take a few more notes. 

"Hey, Jim?" 

"Yeah?" 

Blair was a dozen feet away, chest deep in water, his hair smoothed back from his face. "What I said before, about using your senses to fish with. I was serious." 

"Damn, I was kind of hoping it was a joke." 

"Oh," Blair's face fell. "Well, it doesn't matter. It was just an idea." 

"No, come on. You may as well tell me now." 

"Okay." Blair grinned and swam over to him, coming to his feet before Jim, where the water only came up to his waist. 

Jim was a sentinel, and the sun had set, leaving only the palest moonlight from beyond the cliff, filtered by jungle trees. But Jim was a sentinel and he could see Blair so clearly, see the water as if in slow motion, cascade down his body from his shoulders, his head, down through the tight curls on his chest, across the smooth firm muscles and back into the water. He could see so much, the small brown nipples, hard and teased tight from the breeze. 

The urge to simply lean forward and taste one swept over him, like a tidal wave. Stunned to the core, he remained where he was, trembling with the aftershock. 

Blair carried on, oblivious to Jim's arousal, Jim's ... 

"Well, what I was thinking was, maybe fish make sounds you can hear. You know, when they move through the water. If you stand here, and concentrate, perhaps you can distinguish between the waves hitting the shore and anything else going on down there. It's just that it's really calm tonight and I thought it would be worth trying it, just to see, you know?" 

"Like this is maybe one of the things primitive sentinels did?" Jim's voice sounded so normal to him, he wondered where it came from and who was driving it. Being a sentinel was a curse. If he hadn't been able to see in the dark, he wouldn't be looking at Blair like this, his body wouldn't be reacting this way. 

"Exactly. Do you want to give it a try?" 

"Sure." Anything. Say anything to keep him standing there, hold his attention. Need to see him. "What do you suggest?" 

"Well, you should close your eyes - " 

No ... 

"and concentrate on listening. Focus on the sound of my voice - " 

Yes ... Beautiful, wonderful voice. Dropped low, soft and warm. Sensuous. Gliding through his awareness like the water across his thighs. 

"and think about the water, what's under it. Feel the rhythm of the waves against your legs, one after the other. Listen to the sounds they make, learn them and try to filter them out. Leave that behind ..." 

Jim stumbled, sinking into the water. Blair reached out to catch him, helping him stand. 

"What happened?" 

What happened? Yeah, what did just happen? One second he was there, listening to Blair's voice, the next he was in the water. "I don't think I can do it with my eyes closed." 

Blair frowned, thinking. "Well, you know as well as I do, sight usually drowns out the input from other senses. If you keep your eyes open, you'll notice less." 

"If I close them, the moment I concentrate on the waves, I'll go under again. Keeping my eyes open helps me keep my balance." 

"Oh." 

Jim watched him, watched him as he had done for so long now, watched the play of expressions over that beautiful face, watched the fresh water begin its journey downwards. Wanted to follow it. Wanted to be that water. 

"I might be able to do it ..." he began, hearing his voice sound anything but normal. "If I ... If I ... If I'm ... touching you." 

Permission. He had to get permission. If they touched these days, Blair was the one who initiated it - and only when Jim blanked out. He had to get permission. He could do this if he could anchor on Blair, let Blair's physical presence keep him balanced. 

"Okay." 

Jim caught in a breath and took a step closer. He knew his hands were shaking as he lifted them out of the water but he didn't care. The aching need to feel Blair again drove him forward, drove him somewhere he wanted so much to be. 

With no idea where that was. 

He placed his hands on Blair's shoulders, found the man's face lifting towards him, eyes wide, a little fearful - 

A connection. Seeing right through him, reading him, his desires, his secrets, what his body was trying to communicate. To both of them. 

Surprise. 

Water lapped around them, cool, inviting, laced with danger. Jim could feel the body heat leaking from Blair, his own meeting it, his own desire match and tangle together every piece of confusion he'd ever felt. The pounding in his ears drowned out everything else. 

Could he do this? 

Concentrate on this test while his hands were on that ... beloved skin? 

Could he leave himself behind, with only Blair as his lifeline back? 

Was that what he was doing here? 

"Jim?" Blair's word came a kind of wary whisper, as though he too, wondered what was happening here. He was in trouble - but Jim was in no position to rescue him. 

Jim closed his eyes - no, he couldn't do it. Not listen to the sea and have Blair so close. His senses were reeling already and with barely a hesitation, he dived into them, a sea of experiences, of sensations he'd only glimpsed from a distance. Soft noises drifted into his ears, live awareness and vibrant reality, heat and more heat, demanding, very real. Above the salty air, he could scent this man, almost taste his existence. 

Blair began to tremble under his hands. 

Blind and unaware, Jim inhaled and continued his journey into the unknown. 

He could feel it. What Blair was feeling. He knew what this was. Desire. Lust. Need. Wanting. Love. Five other senses and all of them enhanced at the same time. 

Blair was so good to touch, so good to listen to, so good to be with. So very, very good ... 

He needed more. More to touch. He moved, down, following the trail, trusting his senses to lead him. He came to a halt when his cheek came in contact with Blair's. The sudden rush of new sensations startled him and he moved again, gently caressing Blair's cheek with his own, absorbing as much as he could, needing to feel the tremble that ran through Blair's entire body. 

So good. 

Carefully, he felt the skin against his, lightly, feeling it inflame them both. Blair leaned into him with a sound that might have been a protest, might have been a desire voiced. He couldn't tell, couldn't stop to ask, couldn't afford to, couldn't do anything else but feel the face he'd loved his whole life. 

Blair's hands came up his arms, not pushing away, not holding, simply there and Jim wanted them to hold him, wanted them to pull him close, wanted Blair to want him. To need him. 

He shifted, taking in the other side of Blair's face, listening to the short breaths come raggedly now, distressed, and still he continued his caress. This couldn't be bad, could it? Couldn't be wrong? Couldn't be anything but good because it felt so good, felt so right, sentinel and guide, the two of them ... 

Then his lips found those of his love, hesitated on the brink - and he fell into the kiss naturally, slowly and gently, feeling the moist heat open to him, allow him in, wanting him there, needing him. Salt and desire, one and the same. 

And Blair kissed him with such tenderness, wet tongue raking across his own, teeth playing with his lips, setting each one alight again and again. An adventure in contained passion, the full mouth taking his, drawing him down deeper, where he wanted to be. 

Here. 

One kiss became another and another, never-ending, sharing, together and separate, making a new heat between them, flavoured by salt and bitterness, need and desire. 

He was finally kissing Blair and he never wanted to stop. 

He was ... 

... kissing ... 

Blair. 

Cold washed through his body and he jerked away, eyes wide, heart pounding with sudden terror. He stumbled back, cursing himself inside, shock running through him untethered - 

Fired by the fury on Blair's face. Without a word, Blair turned and headed for the shore. Jim hauled in ragged breaths, blinking - before wading out after him. 

"Blair ..." 

"No!" On the sand now, Blair picked up his forgotten tank top, whirled back around to face Jim. "I've had enough, Jim. Enough! Do you hear me? I just can't do this any more!" 

"You don't..." Jim reached him, holding his hands up - but Blair just stepped back, his fury pacing the still night. 

"Get away from me! I don't want you touching me. Ever! What, you want to talk about it? Explain it? Make me understand why you think I'm so disgusting you can't love me?" He pulled in a harsh breath, tears forming in his eyes. "But you don't talk, Jim. You just take. Again and again. Because _you_ need. Need my help, need whatever. You need. Always you. But what about what _I_ need, Jim? Eh?" 

"Blair, I ..." 

Jim reached out but Blair slapped his hand away, his voice rough, heart-wrenched, "Don't touch me! Do you have any idea how you've poisoned me? I look at myself in the mirror and wonder if maybe you're right, that there isn't anything there for you to love, that maybe this _is_ wrong. I hate that! How could you do that to me!" 

He backed towards the path, tears now flowing into the salt water on his face. "I mean it, Jim. This ends here and now. I can't let you destroy me. I won't let you! I hope you and your hatred will be very happy together." 

"Don't do this, Blair!" Jim urged, not moving closer, trying only to stop him running away. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to ..." 

"What? Not trying to what? Do you know how many sentences you start and never finish? What is it you can't say to me, Jim? What? That you want me? Hell, I know that already. You can't kiss me like that and expect me not to work it out for myself. You wanted me the first moment you saw me - just like I wanted you. But you fought it all the way, going down and taking me with you." 

"It was never that simple!" 

Blair took a step closer, his eyes bright glowing coals, "I don't give a fuck, Jim! Are you listening to me? I. Can't. Do. This. Not any more. It hurts too much." Blair's voice broke on the last word. "It hurts too much knowing I'm not allowed to love you. Christ, it hurts even just saying that. But I'm not allowed to love you, to touch you. I'm supposed to pretend, just like you do. I'm supposed to hide what I feel and god, I have tried, tried so hard to do something that's so unnatural to me. I did it for you, because I knew you were afraid. But I just can't do it any more. It hurts too much seeing you hate me for it, seeing you hate yourself. I can't fix it, Jim. I can't cure it. I can't make it go away. Please, stop expecting me to. Just leave me alone!" 

* * *

The cool moon rose over the cliff, like a ghost in shadow, slowly and deliberately. Jim watched it. Waited for it. Sitting on his rock. 

Alone. 

It was a long time ago now, but he could still remember clearly the first time his senses flared up. He was just a kid, out late at night without his father knowing. Out with the boys, playing in the park, doing nothing special. And the moon had come up. Somebody pointed it out to him and he had turned and looked. 

And all these things came into his eyes. Bits of light, sparkling and dazzling. The moon was so beautiful, so entrancing, he couldn't take his eyes from it. 

It had taken one of the others to push him to the ground to get him to move. They said later he'd been standing there for at least ten minutes. They laughed it off, saying nothing more. Until it happened the next time. 

Yeah, he remembered. What he didn't remember was the first time he had looked at a man and felt desire. 

And why couldn't he remember? After all, he could recall that night with the moon so long ago and he'd been what, seven, maybe eight years old? So, he had a clear recollection of something that had happened thirty years ago. Something important. So why wasn't the realization of his attraction to men important enough to remember? 

He wished he could recall it. He needed to know how it had felt. At the time. 

Had he been shocked? Dismayed? Disgusted with himself? Or did those feelings only come later, as he grew older, as he learned to judge right from wrong. 

He'd never told anybody. Not once had he ever spoken about it. Instead, he'd ignored it, suppressed it, pretended it wasn't there. Just as he'd done with his senses. But just like his senses, it had never gone away, never stayed where he'd put it. But he'd allowed himself to believe that if he just tried hard enough, it _would_ work. One day. 

A lifetime of effort - all for nothing. These enhanced senses would be with him for the rest of his life. 

The rest of his natural life. 

Moonglow spilled across the calm water before him, casting shadows on the sand, clear and bright enough to read in. Tiny particles of silica sparkled in the light near his feet, keeping him company. 

He stood and headed up the path. He already knew where Blair was. Sitting on the porch, in his deckchair, the hurricane lantern hanging above him as he read. Or tried to. Jim wasn't sure he would be able to read right now though knowing Blair, he could probably read through anything. 

Knowing Blair. 

The younger man didn't look up as Jim stepped onto the porch, said nothing as Jim went inside. The house was dark but it was obvious that Blair had packed his things. His suitcase sat by the front door, ready for the morning, a silent message to Jim, a warning. 

He went into the kitchen and packed his own things in the dark. After all, he was a sentinel, wasn't he? A man who could sense more than anyone else? 

If that was so, then why hadn't he noticed what he was doing to Blair? 

Why hadn't he seen what the panther was trying to tell him? 

Maybe because he was as evil as he'd always thought - his desires had pushed him to lash out, to wound and maim, to protect himself. 

The memory of Blair's kisses haunted him. The taste, the feel of the man, heated and needing. Blair needed. Blair needed so much and Jim only took from him. And hurt. And wounded. Maiming the thing he loved, cursing the man with his own hatred. 

The kiss had been so wonderful. 

Full of wonder. 

For a moment, drowning out his fear - but only for a moment. If he gave in, if he truly let himself love Blair, what would that make him? Weak-willed? Cowardly? Unable to avoid the responses of his own body? A body which cried out for another man's to touch it - while his heart cried out for release from this prison. 

What kind of man was he to take as he had, to hurt as he had? Who was he, really? Was this what his curse had left him? Was this the life he would live? 

Would this torture never end? Would he never see the day when his sick perversion would cease to control his urges? Was he so totally wrapped up in his own quagmire that he could so hopelessly hurt somebody he loved? What kind of monster had this made of him? 

He crouched down beside his suitcase, folding each article before laying it inside. When he was done, he pulled off his salty shirt and put on another. Not that it would make much difference. It was so hot tonight, he was likely to drown in his own sweat. 

The cloth clung to his skin, like a shroud. He stood and turned to the bench where Blair had left him food, under cover of a bowl. Leftovers. Rice fried with vegetables, cold now after sitting there for the last few hours. He covered it back up and pulled out a beer instead. He wasn't hungry. Not for food. 

He knocked the top off the bottle and took a long, serious mouthful. It was warm - but he was getting used to that now. Better a warm beer than none at all. 

It was time. 

He walked back through the kitchen, back through the bedroom and emerged from the door onto the porch. He may as well have not even been there for all the difference it made to Blair. No shift or movement, no alteration in breathing or pulse. So Jim continued on until he reached the railing. 

He did remember something. The night when Blair had told him about his grandfather. He remembered being so angry he'd thrown his beer bottle over the cliff. He'd gone down there the next morning and picked up as many pieces as he could. But the bottle had stayed broken. 

"My father used to tell me I was a freak. When he found out about my senses, he told me I was abnormal, some kind of monster. He was cold, hard and manipulating, managing to turn my brother against me with very little effort. I haven't seen Steven for fourteen years. I have no idea what happened to my mother. She just left one day. My father said she'd had a breakdown, virtually called her a freak as well. Probably blamed her for what was happening to me. I got the feeling he couldn't bring himself to love a son who was a freak." 

Jim stopped speaking long enough to taste more of the warm, bitter beer. He swallowed, placed the bottle gently on the wooden rail, his gaze drifting into the distance, making no effort to really see anything. 

"I was married once. Her name was Carolyn. It didn't last long. I couldn't hide anything from her after a while." 

No, he didn't want to stay there for long. He had to keep going, before the last shreds of his courage faded and made him even more ashamed. 

"It was always wrong. _I_ was always wrong. My whole life. Sure, I've had acceptance - for very short periods of time, until people got to know me better. The more of me they saw, of the effects my senses had on my life, the less they were willing to accept. But then, you've done much the same, haven't you? All your friends, none of them see the real Blair Sandburg. They only see the man you play so you can gain their acceptance. It's truly sad you that can't be yourself with any of them \- because you like yourself and that's such an attractive quality to have. It was one of the first things that drew me to you." 

One more mouthful of beer and he was almost done. It was almost over. "And just for the record, I never hated you and you never disgusted me. Quite the opposite. You are in fact, probably the most beautiful thing I have ever come across." 

There, it was done. No apology made - none wanted. None that would make any difference, undo the hurt he'd inflicted in his blindness. 

Yeah, he was done - and finished, he drained his beer and went back inside. He stripped off and stretched out on his bed, closing his eyes, hoping that some time during the night, sleep might be kind enough to take him. 

* * *

Blair stayed on the porch for a long time after Jim went inside. He just sat and listened to the noises, night birds, insects, cicadas, all going on with their lives. Rustling of animals through the trees, the odd croak or call he couldn't immediately identify. 

For so long this place had been a kind of home to him. He'd found this house within weeks of coming to Singapore, loved coming here, hated having to go back to the city. There had always been something so generous about being this close to the elements, this close to nature. He'd always embraced it, allowing it to rebuild him. 

Would he always think of Jim when he came back here now? Would the memory of pain be the only attraction in these cliffs? Would this anger ever go away? 

He'd been born into this. Into a world already ashamed of him, already wishing for him to drift into non-existence. An apology. A mistake. A chance mishap cursing too many people, forcing too much adjustment within a staid and conventional family. 

Had he run from that? Had he allowed his natural desires to be discovered so he could test where his family's loyalties had lain? He had tested and found them terribly wanting. He'd been rejected, told to be grateful he at least had money in his pocket, as though that were a sufficient replacement for love and security. Well, perhaps to his family, it was. 

His mother loved him, he knew that. Wild and uncontrollable Naomi, once the darling of her family, now considered something of a misfit because she preferred the company of mystics and artists, of intelligent and questing minds. But the family still loved her, forgave her her small sin. Smaller now that Blair was no longer around, reminding them. 

Naomi had tried to fight them, tried to force her father to bring Blair back. But acceptance can never be forced. After a few years, Naomi had grown to recognize that she would never change her father - but that breaking off her own relationship with him would also not change anything either. 

Blair had long since forgiven her. She was no more perfect than anyone else. She maintained contact with her family because she loved them. She kept in contact with Blair for the same reason. 

She had not understood. 

When she'd found him at college, estranged from his family, she had been overwrought. With two months already on his own, Blair had been the one to calm her down. Only after that had her mystification emerged. 

A boy? He'd fallen in love with a boy? Was he sure? Had this boy coerced him in any way? Made suggestions he hadn't felt comfortable with? Surely it was just friendship he'd felt? 

Blair had spent hours trying to explain but as usual, Naomi hadn't listened to his words. Instead, she did what she was so good at, following her own heart. She'd held him, told him she loved him and that she hoped he would resolve his confusion. She hadn't understood - and without understanding, she hadn't ever really accepted. These days, she just overlooked it. Asked no questions, made no demands. Even so, there was still that vague assumption that one day he would find a nice girl, get married and settle down. 

Well, maybe he should. Maybe he should just go to someone like Annabelle, get down on bended knee and ask her to share her life with him. Perhaps then it would all go away. He would gain acceptance, that much was certain. Equally certain was the likelihood that old Jacob would welcome him back, prepared to accept his grandson's childhood misdeeds as a momentary aberration. 

And where would that leave him? Accepted back into a family that had never wanted him in the first place? Living a lie with a woman he genuinely cared about? Bringing children into a family that would only accept them on terms they wouldn't have a hand in negotiating? And how would he, as their father, react to that? Could he honestly change so much of himself just to gain that one small treasure he longed so dearly for? Acceptance? 

>From one prison to another. One set of chains swapped for another. Freedom it seemed, would elude him regardless of where he turned. 

And the ghost of Jim Ellison would stay with him, regardless of what choice he made, just as it would haunt this house whenever he came back. Love, like acceptance, wasn't so easily bought and sold. He'd given his heart away, worthless thing that it was. He wouldn't get it back in a hurry, and certainly not in one piece. 

And just like acceptance, he'd have to learn to live without love. 

* * *

Blair was in the bathroom when he heard it. He stopped brushing his teeth long enough to really listen. The morning air outside was still and clinging, nothing fresh or inviting about it - but that horrible grinding whine split the silence and he let out a groan. Quickly, he rinsed his mouth, wiped it and hurried outside. 

The grinding had stopped. Instead, Jim had the hood of the car up and he was bent over it, his hands playing with something inside the engine. 

"Please, tell me you can fix it." 

Jim glanced across at him, "I can't tell you that until I know what's wrong. But just tell me this - why, when you've got more money than you know what to do with, did you not know to buy a decent car?" 

"It's a classic." 

"And right now, it's a classic that's going nowhere. Have you got any more tools?" 

"Inside." 

"Would you like to get them?" 

"Not particularly." Blair replied through gritted teeth. He did go however, returning moments later with a tin box which he dumped on the ground at Jim's feet. 

"Why don't you get some breakfast? This could take a while." 

"How long is a while?" 

"All day if you don't stop interrupting me." 

Blair bit off another retort, turning to go back into the house. "Great," he hissed to himself. "I get stuck here for another whole day with him." 

"I heard that, Chief." 

"Good!" Blair slammed the door on him and stormed into the kitchen. Tea. He needed some tea. Meena must have put some in here. 

He found it and set water to boil, pulled out a pot and cup. The sugar was full of ants as usual - and yes, the salt was wet through. Huh, the grand life in the tropics, where the elements were always working against you. 

Armed with his cup of tea, Blair returned to the front porch where he took a seat on the step and watched whatever it was Jim was doing. The man had removed his shirt but he'd got black grease all over his hands, arms and tank top. 

There was no doubt about it - Jim had a stunning body. All flexing muscles and hidden strengths. Just looking at it fed Blair's anger. 

"Do you need any help?" 

"No." Jim grunted. He straightened up, reached inside the car and turned the ignition again. Nothing happened. 

"Are you sure you're not making it worse?" 

"Don't you have anything better to do than ask me questions?" 

"No." 

"Then at least try to resist." 

"Been doing that all my life." 

"I heard that, too." 

"Then dial down your hearing." 

Jim didn't look at him. Not once. He just exchanged one tool for another and continued working. After a minute, Jim said, "You're still there." 

"That's great detection, sentinel." 

"Well, maybe you can answer a question for me. If you only bought this car when we came out here, how did you get here before?" 

"I caught a boat from Singapore harbour. Dropped me at the beach. I used to walk into the nearest kampong to call and get them to pick me up when I was ready to leave." 

"So why did you buy this car? Why didn't we come out here by boat?" 

"I had a party to go to, remember?" 

"And what a great night that turned out to be. All in all, though it couldn't have cost much, this car has still turned out to be a complete waste of money. Quite an achievement, Chief." 

Blair looked away, unable to help mumbling his useless reply. 

"What was that?" 

"You mean, you didn't hear me?" 

"I heard - but you mumbled. It doesn't count." 

"I said I bought it because I was going to give it to you and I didn't think you'd let me buy you something expensive, okay?" 

Jim froze. "You bought it for me?" he whispered. Slowly he turned his head until his gaze met Blair's. 

Blair felt the air catch in his lungs, felt tears fill his eyes, tears drawn there by the look on Jim's face. He could only nod - then his body resisted everything to do with this moment, driving him to his feet and taking him away. He was down at the beach before he even thought of looking back. 

Continued in part four.


	4. Chapter 4

Due to length, this story has been split into five parts.

## Prison

by Jack Reuben Darcy

Author's homepage: <http://internetdump.com/users/angiet/>

Disclaimer and notes can be found in part one. 

* * *

Prison - Part four  
By Jack Reuben Darcy 

Jim swore as the wrench slipped out of his hand again. It rattled against parts of the useless engine and lodged somewhere where he couldn't see it. 

"Shit!" 

Damned fool, buying him a car! Why? Why not buy himself one? A good one. Something that wouldn't leave them stranded right when they really wanted to get away from each other. 

Well, okay, Jim certainly didn't want to get away from Blair - but Blair did want to see the last of Jim and that's what really mattered, wasn't it? 

He reached down into the engine crevasses and tried to grab hold of the wrench. He touched it, but his hand was too big to grasp it. He swore again, pushed harder and only succeeded in giving himself a nice bruise. 

"Enjoying yourself?" 

He started, lifting his head too quickly only to bang it against the hood. Blair was standing there, a basket over one shoulder, face slightly flushed from his walk back from the kampong. 

"Yeah, having a great time, thanks. I gave up becoming a mechanic in favour of joining the army. Life comes full circle. Any luck?" 

Blair came closer, peering into the engine as though it would hand up the mysteries of the universe. "I told you, the closest mechanic is in the city - and there's no way anybody will come out this far to help no matter how much I'm willing to pay them." 

"What about the boat?" 

"Can't pick us up until the day after tomorrow." 

"Oh, the news just gets better and better." 

"Well," Blair shrugged, "I did get some food so there's no chance of us starving." 

"And I just lost the only wrench we had so we're down three for one." 

Blair put his basket on the ground and leaned over the engine. "How can you lose a wrench?" 

"It's wedged somewhere down there. I can't get my hand on it." 

"Oh." Blair glanced up at him and for a moment, there was nothing of the last few days filling his gaze. Just a pair of huge blue eyes, a faint smile, hair pulled back but pieces sticking to his forehead in the heat. 

I love you. 

The words sat silently in Jim's mind, overtly deliberate, never to be spoken aloud. 

I love you. I want you. 

It was impossible for two men to be in love. But still, there they stood, so distant and yet, always so close; love, the dividing line between them. 

"I suppose you need the wrench to keep working?" Blair seemed to notice nothing and Jim just nodded. "Do you know what's wrong yet? Is there any point in trying to fix it?" 

"If I can get the wrench back, I might have it going by the morning." 

Blair glanced up at the sky, "We might be lucky and miss the monsoon this afternoon - but it will be dark in a couple of hours and we don't have the kind of lights you need to keep working after that." 

"Like I said, without the wrench ..." 

Blair turned back to the engine, pursing his lips, his voice vaguely amused, "Well, I admit I don't know anything about cars - but do you mind if I try?" 

Jim stood back. "Be my guest." 

Flashing him a grin, Blair put both hands on the front of the car, straightened his elbows and pushed all his weight down. The springs gave under the strain, bouncing him back up. He pushed again, and again and suddenly Jim heard the suspicious rattle and thud of the wrench falling through onto the ground. With a small chuckle, Blair stepped back, raising his hands. 

"And I didn't even get grease on me." 

Without thinking, Jim flicked out his hand, touching a finger to Blair's nose. He left a nice black mark behind - then immediately wished he hadn't. 

Blair's smile vanished. His jaw trembled and he shook his head, just staring for a moment. "I hate you," he whispered, then collected his basket and went inside. 

"That's okay, Chief," Jim murmured in his wake. "So do I." 

* * *

For the first time in his life, Blair was sick of reading. Sick of sitting here, feeling hot and sticky, with nothing else to do but bury himself in a book. He'd bought more paraffin for the lamp but after dinner, he simply couldn't be bothered. Instead, he sat out on the porch, alone, facing the sea, hoping some tiny breath of breeze might whip itself up and ease the undying, clogging, draining heat. 

On days like this, rain normally broke the bar, driving afternoon into evening with the semblance of relief. But not today, no, not today. Now, two hours after dark, it was even hotter than before. There wasn't even any point to going down to the beach for a swim - climbing back up here would only leave him sweaty and uncomfortable. He already had on his lightest clothes, shorts and a shirt with the sleeves torn off. 

Jim had gone down, more than an hour ago - but with his sight, he'd have no problem getting back up the path in the dark. 

Funny that. Real funny. Man with such amazing eyesight being as blind as a bat. 

God, he hated this sitting around! The car still wasn't fixed, the boat still two days away - and every time he looked at Jim, his heart ached a little more. If this went on any longer, there wouldn't be much of him left to take back to the city. 

It was too easy to blame Jim. Make him at fault. As easy as sitting here, in fact. Not that it had made him feel any better, any cooler. And he'd had fun blaming himself, too. Equally unproductive. 

He should have followed his instincts the first night he'd met Jim. Put on the best of his charm and seduced the man right there and then. Spent the night making love to him, teaching him what that meant, making him understand and accept what he was, what they both were. 

But no, he'd bowed to his better side, respecting the fear he'd seen in the man's eyes, accepting Jim's decision to keep their relationship on a professional level. He'd handed out acceptance like a man who had plenty to give - and received rejection in it's place. Rejection and revulsion. Why did he keep doing that? Why did he keep believing that he was right and everybody else was wrong? That accepting the differences in people helped to grow bonds, build bridges, prevent wars. Hell, he gave everybody the same level of respect, was happy to, willing to do it until a person proved they didn't deserve it. But the respect came for free. That was simply who Blair was, a part of himself he'd always liked. So why the hell couldn't somebody - hell, _anybody_ do the same fucking thing for him? Just once! 

What was so wrong with him? Was he really so ugly inside? So hideous? 

No, it didn't make it any better, blaming anybody. Didn't make the ache go away, didn't make the rain fall. But it did make him wish he'd never fallen in love - and if anything, that made it worse. Much worse. 

* * *

Jim brought up another bucket of sea-water to keep the beer cool. He'd been doing it all day now and the bottles had lost their warm, slimy feel. He stowed the bucket under the kitchen bench, transferred the remaining beer and took one outside with him. For a while, he stood on the front porch, looking at the car, swallowing one mouthful of beer after another. It was odd; he'd drunk more beer in the last four days than he had in the last four years. So, what did that say about him? 

Well, it might say that he was well on his way to becoming a lush - but a couple of bottles a day hardly qualified. 

It might also say that he now found it so hard to face Blair, he couldn't do it without the aid of alcohol. 

Except that - facing Blair wasn't a problem at all. No, staying away from him was the problem. For the last three hours, he'd sat down on the beach, trying to convince himself to remain there all night - but the idea of leaving his slumbering body to the mercy of the millions of little crabs that inhabited the coastline of this country was more than he could cope with. 

Even now, all he really wanted to do was walk around the house, pull up a chair and just be in the same space as Blair. 

But that was what _he_ wanted and what he wanted didn't count any more. What Blair wanted was far more important to him - and Blair wanted him to stay away. Stay away so he couldn't inflict any more hurt, cause any more damage. Blair needed to be left alone so he could feel safe. Blair needed peace and quiet. Time; to forget, to heal. Blair needed somebody to help him heal. Blair needed so much. Love. Generosity. Kindness. He deserved all that and much, much more. Somebody who would look after him, protect him, listen to him, encourage him, believe in him. But the chances were, Blair would never have what he needed because that person would be another man. He'd already lost his home and his family because of it. He would also lose any happiness he was owed because, as complex as it was, this world would never accept what he was. Never give him what he needed. 

What Blair needed ... 

... to be allowed to love him. That's what he'd said. 

Just that, no more. He just needed to be allowed to love Jim. And just like the rest of the world, Jim wouldn't accept what Blair needed, wouldn't give him what he needed, would only continue hurting him because of what he needed. In the end, Blair would pay the price of a world of ignorance and bigotry. 

Damn it! 

Jim strode around the car, pacing back and forth, drinking, swallowing as though vengeance would slide away along with the beer. How could Blair love him? How? What twisted part deep inside Blair made him love a monster like Jim? A monster Jim himself hated so much. 

But Blair had said it. Those words. To be allowed to love him ... 

Jim kicked a tire. And did it again. His toes hurt, bones in his foot up to his ankle ached with his frustration. 

Hell, he couldn't even go and talk to the man because explaining wouldn't mean anything now. The time for words was long gone. He should have done it in the beginning, should have overcome his fear of admitting his attraction and warned the man off. Jim had known, he'd gone in with his eyes wide open. But he hadn't believed in the love thing, hadn't known it would happen, had conceived only of the impossibility of it all. 

And still Blair needed. 

Jim could hear him, on the other side of the house. Getting out of his chair, walking barefoot across the wooden porch. Sighing into the hot night, brushing his hair back from his face, tying it up. Alone. 

Alone. 

Alone for the rest of his life. 

Unless he could find what he needed. Acceptance. 

No. No ... not that alone. Blair needed ... 

A slice of cold fear threaded its way through Jim like a sword of steel \- but still he stood there, staring at the house, his mind providing the picture he needed of Blair standing on the porch. Alone. 

Hell! 

Jim swallowed, took a deep breath ... 

He couldn't ... 

Another swallow, forced, as his heartbeat drummed inside him, a tattoo of terror at war with necessity. 

No, wanting it wasn't the problem. He simply couldn't ... 

Blair needed, didn't he? And wasn't what Blair needed important? If Jim did love him, weren't Blair's needs fundamental to him? 

Of course they were! Absolutely fundamental. But ... this ... was just ... 

It was wrong! To do that was ... just ... 

Jim had to stop, had to pause and pull in some air, feeling the night sting his eyes, feeling surprise there were tears there. 

ChristyesitwaswrongbutBlairneeded ... 

... to be allowed to love him. 

A pair of bats chittered in the trees behind him then flew low, past his head. He stood and watched them, stretching his sight as far as he could, seeing them dip and glide along the top of the cliff before disappearing once more into the jungle. A fleeting glimpse of natural perfection; within this particular world, perfectly normal. Didn't matter that he hated bats. Didn't matter that he hated himself. Blair loved him and need to be allowed to. 

The only real question was, could Jim allow him? Could he put aside his self-revulsion long enough to give the man he loved what he needed? God, he wanted Blair so much, wanted to do this - but could he? Or, would his courage fail him at the last, as it had done twice before? 

The worst thing about it was, there was no way for him to find out. No way but to forge ahead and see what happened - and if he failed, causing more damage along the way ... 

But Blair needed - so Jim had to try. Had to. Because Jim loved. 

The sweet jungle air filled his lungs like an essence of peace, drawing him down from his fear and welcoming him. Strangely settled and steady, he took one more mouthful of beer, swallowed and nodded to the night. Then he began walking along the porch, turning one corner after another until he faced Blair, saw him standing with his back to the railing, hands resting either side of him. 

Only one way to find out. 

Staying where he was for the moment, Jim drained the last of his beer, putting the bottle on the floor. "Can I ask you something?" 

Blair didn't even glance at him. "What?" 

Jim came forward a little, just close enough to see the way the moon lit the back of Blair's hair. "Why did you let Carl harass you for three years?" 

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe I just like men who treat me like shit. Consider it a character failing." 

"No, I'm serious." 

"And you think I'm not? Great!" 

"You sound bitter." 

"No kidding." 

"And I'm not?" 

Blair glanced at him, almost scathingly, "You don't sound bitter at all." 

"I suppose I don't." 

Jim moved again until he stood beside Blair, a foot away, his back resting against the railing. He folded his arms and kept his gaze on the house before them. "So why did you?" 

Blair let out a pent up breath, ran both hands over his face before replacing them on the rail. "I never _let_ Carl harass me. He just does." 

"But you've done nothing to stop him." 

"It doesn't work that way with him - and believe me, I have tried. Maybe I overestimated my own powers of persuasion. I kept hoping he'd start to behave like a decent human being. I've hardly spoken to him in three months. I wouldn't see him at all except we have a lot of friends in common. To be honest, I don't even remember why I got involved with him in the first place. I didn't like him much back then, either. He turns my stomach. He ... hit me once. Got off on inflicting pain. That's when I kicked him out." 

Hell! Why would anyone want to hit someone like Blair? Still, that made his own violent reaction to Carl feel even more like justice. Just wish he _had_ broken the bastard's jaw after all. 

He felt another glance grazing over him. 

Blair's voice came dry and ironic. "I suppose that only confirms to you what he said about me?" 

"I never believed a word of it at the time so I don't see how that's possible." 

"What do you mean, you never believed a word of it? Why shouldn't you?" 

"I know you better." Jim shrugged, "I know an asshole when I see one and Carl fits the description. Plus, I'd heard you talking to Bruno. There was something in the way he asked you if you'd found someone. Like he was hoping you had. Like finding that someone was very important to you. I wish you'd been able to say yes." 

"So do I." The words were breathed rather than spoken and Jim risked a look. Blair was staring at the ground, his mind seemingly miles away. 

Jim only paused long enough to check inside himself, to dab around with a mental hand to make sure the fear was well out of the way, where it wouldn't interfere with what he was about to do. But he was safe for the moment. Then he continued, "When did you know?" 

"What?" 

"That you were attracted to men?" 

Blair shifted a little, obviously uncomfortable. "When I was about fourteen, I suppose. About the same time I noticed girls." 

"But you preferred men?" 

"Yes. Jim, do we have to ..." 

"I'm sorry, I'm not trying to pry. It's okay if you don't want to talk about it." 

Blair said nothing for a moment, then shrugged again, "Oh, hell, why not? It's not as if we have anything else to do." 

"So," Jim settled back a bit, "this boy you fell in love with? When your grandfather threw you out. Was he your first?" 

"I guess - not that we did much. He was two years older than me. He worked in the gardens of grandfather's estate. I would go out and study on the lawn, watching him while he worked. Then, when we thought nobody was looking, we'd sneak into some shady corner and kiss for a while. It was nice." 

"And that was it?" 

"No, not entirely. I did sleep with him once, just before we were found out. But he wouldn't ... you know, do much because he knew he would go to jail if we got caught. My grandfather never knew about that night." 

"What happened to the boy?" 

"He was dismissed. Then I was kicked out the day after. I tried to track him down but he'd left town. I never did find out if he was okay." 

"So, you did love him, then?" Jim turned to look at Blair, needed to see the face as he answered. Needed one last moment of reassurance. Nothing important shifted inside him when he got it, nothing that he couldn't ignore for a while. 

"I suppose so. It's ten years ago now and I was young. Love always seems so much more powerful when you're a kid." 

Dropping his voice, Jim murmured, "And what about now?" 

Slowly, Blair lifted his head, brought his gaze around to meet Jim's. For long, unsteady seconds, he said nothing, struggling to understand the question, to see where Jim was heading with it. Eventually, he arrived at a conclusion, frowning a little. "Jim, please, don't do this." 

Weirdly unafraid now - but with a twist of excitement flashing through his stomach, Jim lifted his chin a little, let his gaze wander, drifting over the unique beauty of Blair Sandburg, that which he could see on the outside, and that which he knew to be on the inside. Simply being this close was intoxicating enough. Could he really get closer? 

Close enough to make love to him? 

There was a single lock of hair sitting against the side of Blair's face, anchored there by the heat. Jim focussed on it, following the dark curl from forehead to chin, as though it were a signpost. "Did he know, this gardener, how to make you feel good?" 

"Jim, please ..." 

Blair didn't move when Jim reached up and touched that lock, carefully pushed it back with the others. "Was he gentle?" 

"Jim, I'm begging you. Don't." 

Jim moved a little closer, his gaze drifting again, dropping to where Blair's hand rested so nearby, on the railing. He reached out, brushed the back of one finger up the fine hairs on the forearm. 

Blair shivered. 

He continued his journey upwards, steeling across smooth golden flesh, glistening with sweat, sensing hard, flexed muscle beneath. 

"Jim, I don't want your charity." 

"I have none to give." 

Blair's skin was smooth and moist, tortured by the heat, burning beneath his hand. His fingers gained the strong shoulder, his eyes following it. Blair's chest was moving now, hard, trying to stay contained and failing. 

"I don't know," Jim whispered, moving closer, close enough for his body to touch Blair's. "I don't know how to make a man feel good. Don't know how to touch, how to please. I don't know how to make love to you." 

"Do ... do you want to?" 

"Yes." Yes, yes. Oh, god, yes. Always wanted to. From the first moment I saw you. 

Jim watched a single trickle of sweat gather on Blair's brow, watched it fall slowly down the cheek, down onto his throat. Drawn to it, he leaned forward, sent his tongue out to catch it, lingering there, tasting raw flesh, a racing pulse. 

Blair stiffened against him, not moving away, not moving closer, as though this were a torture inflicted upon him and all he could do was endure. 

Jim lifted his face until he could see Blair's, see into those anguished eyes, see what he needed to see, to keep his courage before him. Excitement again tumbled inside him but it kept him steady now. "You love me, don't you?" 

"Yes," Blair pleaded for mercy in every harsh breath drawn in, escaping out. 

"Then guide me on this, too? Show me how to make love to you." 

"I can't." Blair was on the edge now, his eyes glistening with forbidden tears, a wasteland of distress. "I know you won't go through with it. I hate you for doing this to me. I hate you ..." 

"Don't hate me. Just love me." Jim waited, watching, seeing and not seeing, feeling the body beside him tremble, hearing the throat swallow. 

He waited no longer. 

Blair's mouth was a hot cavern, a hell constructed and conceived in heaven. Jim devoured those lips, sucking in tongue and wetness, drinking in the man himself. Blair moaned, tried to push away, even as his own mouth battled against him, striving to get closer to Jim, kissing him in return, kissing him hard. 

Hungry, greedy, pulling on his shirt, Blair moaned again, heartbeat pounding, lips never leaving Jim's. 

Without needing to think about it, Jim swept his arms around the man and did what he'd wanted to do most of his life, hold Blair to him, feel that body so close to his, feel that closeness, that living existence. Just feel it. 

Something inside him cracked. 

Blair's arms came around his neck, as though he would never let go. Taking a good strong hold, he lifted Blair off the ground, carried him inside, keeping the kiss strong and powerful, knowing it was returned. He stopped by Blair's bed, set the man carefully on his feet, shifting his hands to cradle that face, that wonderful face, so full of fear now, so full of need. He left the lips only to taste the sweet flesh along the jaw, across to the ear, sucking in a soft lobe, trailing down the pulse line again, pushing back hair with his tongue. 

His hands moved down, finding the edge of Blair's shirt, lifting it, breaking off a moment to take it away, drop it somewhere in the darkness. Then more heaven as his hands finally touched the sweat-slicked chest, fingers ran through soft curls, found a nipple, pinched hard. 

Blair cried out, almost falling against him, "Jim, please, I beg you. Mean this. Don't hurt me deliberately." 

And Jim swooped down to take that mouth once more, make it his own. He felt Blair's legs weaken, caught him, held him, lowered him gently onto the blankets. 

He did love Blair. So much. So very, very much. 

And he laid Blair beside him, like his dream, saw the way the moon cast his body in its pale light, saw him rise up as Jim touched the other nipple. Hungry now, Jim moved down to that tiny city of pleasure, sweeping his tongue across the hard nub, tasting again salty-sweet Blair. 

Blood and fire roared together, coursing through him like a gale, leaving him shattered and torn, desperate, in need of so much help. Gasping, he took another devouring kiss, his body driving itself against Blair's. 

"Show me," he whispered, yelled, cried out to the night. "Please, show me." 

And Blair moved, caught Jim's head between both hands, kissed him ferociously, biting his lip, his chin, his throat, sucking hard, leaving a mark. "Touch me, Jim, just touch me. Let me touch you." 

He took one of Jim's hands in his own, guided it down between his legs, where cotton met skin, where softness met hard urgency. 

His hands shaking, Jim removed the shorts, saw for the first time, the joys he'd missed all these years. Blair was hard, hard and beautiful, so sweet, yes so sweet, his hands knew it, found it, hard and sweet, shaft solid and silky, a delight to touch, to feel, to hold. 

So real. 

His tongue raked up the length, making Blair cry out again. He took in the head, tasting, and tasting more, pure Blair, real Blair, sucking hard, almost brutal, feeling everything happen within that body. Ignoring what it was doing to his own. 

"Jim, I'm too close!" Blair reached down to him, trying to force Jim's mouth away from that shaft. "Please, not yet." 

And Jim was distracted away from Blair's cock, distracted enough to head for that mouth again, open lips, already swollen, making them more so. 

He felt Blair's hands on his body, felt his tank top lifted up, let it be removed. Blair's hands again, tugging at his shorts, taking them away, touching his chest, his own nipples, moving down, further down. Blair's hands at last, on him. 

On him. 

"Oh, god!" He rushed into that touch, held it there, heart pounding, no idea it would feel like this, no idea, dear god, save me. 

"It's okay, Jim," Blair's voice, the voice he loved to hear so much, reaching into him, soothing him, making him aware again. "Easy, now, it's okay." 

Then the voice flowed into him, as Blair kissed him gently, softly, lingering with him, making him feel so cherished. 

That something inside him cracked again. 

Blair rolled them onto their sides, facing each other, kissing him still, holding him close, bringing a hand between them to caress himself, to caress Jim. "Listen to me, love, just listen. I want you to make me come." 

"Yes." Jim did listen, mesmerized, dazed, blinded. 

"Then I want you to take me." 

"But ... I ..." 

"Do you want to?" 

"Yes, but I thought ... I hoped ..." Words were too much of an effort \- but Blair knew him, knew what he was trying to say. 

"Not this time, love. Later. Trust me, okay?" 

"I trust you, Blair." I love you. Trust you. Love you. 

And Blair began to move against Jim's hand, making Jim move to push him onto his back, kiss him again. 

Make love to him. 

Blair moaned softly, whispering words Jim couldn't hear. His hand moved along Blair's shaft, feeling every small indentation, every ridge, every intimate wonderful part. His tongue drank in the smooth curve and angle of his jaw, throat, chest. 

There was so much of him to love, skin of fire and ice, tangled curls let loose, soft and erotic. So much response to everything Jim did, every movement, every finger trailed down that strong chest. His hand worshipped Blair's cock, greedily, drinking in each deep moan that issued from those beautiful lips. 

He knew when it began, when Blair's eyes opened again, met his, drew him down for another kiss, felt it break inside him, inside them both. Then suddenly Blair was pushing into his hand, jerking and Jim heard the rush, the gasp, the cry as Blair climaxed, covering his hand with silky cream, more and more. So incredible, so wonderful, so beautiful. Slowly, slowly Blair sank down again, his breath catching in his throat, swallowing, a distressed whimper, mournful, heartbroken. Jim hated that sound, kissed him to make it stop. 

Then Blair was shaking his head and Jim left him alone long enough to breathe. It was only then that he noticed Blair's hands, touching him again, painfully, smoothing his own cream over Jim's cock, up and down the shaft, making him burn and tremble. His eyes rose to meet Blair's and he nearly died when he saw them smile back. 

"Do it, love, please. Do it now." 

"You want this?" 

"Very much." 

"I'll hurt you." 

"No, you won't." Blair took more of his cream and held it in his hand. He rolled onto his side, away from Jim, pressed his hand deep into his own cleft. Dazed once more, Jim could only watch, blood pounding in his veins, eyes drinking in the sight, the promise of what was about to happen, afraid it would be too much, that he would hurt where he only meant to love. 

But Blair wasn't afraid, not of this. Instead, he lifted his top leg, took Jim's hand from his hip, urging him forward. 

And blind faith guided him then. He moved, down around, close and near, feeling the heat get closer, feeling his cock flinch, desperate for contact. 

Slowly. He had to go slowly. Knew that. Slowly. 

And slowly he entered the hot place inside Blair, so very slowly. Opening his senses wide, he listened to his loved one breathing, deliberately relaxing, shifting back onto him, ready to take more. Yes, Blair did want this. Less afraid now, he eased in further, wrapping his arms around Blair until he was in, complete, not alone any more. 

That something inside him shattered then, fell apart and disintegrated. 

Jim groaned. Aloud. Hugging Blair to him, he slid his cock back and then forward again, in and out, feeling Blair move with him, feeling Blair want him. So tight and hot, so close, so beautiful, incredible this, to be here, deep inside this man, he had to - 

"Blair, I need to ... see you ... please." 

Needed Blair to see him. 

One breath, two and he felt Blair nod. "Okay. Be careful." 

He was. Very careful. Easing out as he had eased in, lurching inside as he lost contact. But it didn't last long. Blair shifted onto his back, opening his legs wide for Jim, lifting them, allowing him in. 

Entry was easier this time, smoother, but better than anything, was seeing Blair's face as he did, seeing the eyes half close, the mouth half open, the air hissed in and out, the cock resting on his belly, already hard again. 

Deeply buried once more, Jim took that cock in his hand, stroking it slowly, deliberately, enjoying the shuddering sighs raking across Blair's body. The connection was there again, between his cock thrust inside Blair's ass to the cock pushed into Jim's hand. A connection, soul to soul. 

"Please, Jim, please move. I need ..." 

"What do you need, Blair?" Jim began to move again, his own body shuddering with the strain, his cock squeezed tight, sensations twisting inside him, overwhelming him. Never knew it was going to feel like this. Be like this. "What do you need?" 

"You." 

And Jim surged forward, taking one more kiss, making it last, timing the thrust of his tongue with the thrust of his hips, taking, as he had always done with this man, taking and giving now, as he should have done in the beginning. Taking them both, making this real. 

Blair was moaning again, needing air, bucking up into him, forcing urgency into them both. Watching him writhe was Jim's final undoing. He thrust hard into the heat, felt the muscles contract around him, saw Blair begin to come and then he cried out, again and again as he emptied himself deep into Blair, emptying his past and his present into the man, loving him, wanting and needing him so much. All until he had nothing more to give. 

Exhaustion forced him down onto that sweat-soaked chest, love forced his lips to receive one last kiss. Then he slipped out, broke the contact, lay on his side, and took his love into his arms. 

* * *

The thunder was distant, quiet, a blanket within the night, bringing neither cool nor comfort. But to Blair, the sound was familiar enough to hold onto. 

He lay on his side, his back to the open doorway through which bright blue moonlight streamed. Asleep, Jim was bathed in its glory, a naked Greek statue, moving only when he breathed. The only part of him touching Blair was the hand, fingers left on Blair's forearm, an unconscious reminder. 

Blair couldn't reach his watch without moving, but he knew it must be late. Morning couldn't be far off. He wasn't tired, not sleepy. Just lying here in the dark, blue heat watching Jim kept him wide awake. 

They'd slept after that first time. Slept together, arms wrapped around each other. And then, some time later, Blair had woken to find Jim's mouth on him, kissing him, holding him close and again, they'd made love, moving together until desperation had overtaken them. Only half awake, Blair had watched Jim clean them off then crept into the protective enclave within his arms a second time before falling asleep again. 

How long ago that was, he couldn't guess. It was still dark now but perhaps in an hour, the sun would rise - and then what would happen, eh? What would Jim do when the cold light of reality broke into this dream-world? 

Blair silenced the voice of warning echoing, ignored, through his memory. There would be time for regret later. Right now? 

Carefully, he withdrew his arm, breaking the contact with Jim slowly enough so he wouldn't wake up. Then, as silently as he could, Blair stood, wrapped a sarong around his waist and walked through the door, out onto the porch. 

It was still so hot - but the sea looked beautiful in the moonlight. Calm, untouched by human hands, unhurt, unbruised. Pristine in its inky blackness. 

Another, closer drift of thunder brought him to the railing, brought his eyes up to see a fold of cloud approach the waning moon. It would rain soon. Rain would bring relief from the heat, from the torture. An end. 

It was his own fault. He should have said no. Shouldn't have allowed his body to be used like that. 

But hadn't he used Jim just as much? Needing if only the illusion of comfort within his arms, feeding the deep craving to have the man inside him, physically. 

His own fault. He'd known. He'd suspected, had his fears confirmed, ignored them, pushed and prodded, insisted, argued and fought. And none of it, absolutely none of it in the end, made any difference at all. After ten years of being betrayed, he should have known much better than this. 

And in the end, by using and allowing himself to be used, he'd betrayed himself. 

Ironic, that. After so much of his life, assuring himself that he was being true to what he was, that he was unafraid of looking at and accepting that truth, here he was, seeing it for the lie it was. 

And it had only been when Jim had hit Carl that he'd seen it - though he'd not known it at the time. Acceptance. Pure and simple. For ten years he'd demanded acceptance and thought he'd been receiving it - but what he'd actually been looking for was approval. Permission, even. For somebody else to say it was okay to be Blair Sandburg. To confirm it for him, so he could be sure, so he could go on being that person without any worries. 

But Jim hadn't cared whether Carl had lied or not. Hadn't approved or disapproved of Blair one way or the other. His anger had been born of his own fear, not censure. He'd hit Carl because he was being cruel to Blair. Cruel where cruelty was undue, in Jim's eyes. 

Jim hadn't cared about the truth. Jim had cared instead about respect. And respect came regardless of approval or otherwise. Jim had refused to let somebody else show Blair disrespect. 

All too little, too late. Too late to save them. Too late to make a difference. 

He should have known better. 

Blair leaned into the railing, breathing deeply of the moistened air, silently urging the rain to fall. In the silence, he heard Jim shift, heard him pause, heard him get out of bed and walk onto the porch. 

When the arms came around his waist, Blair leaned back into them, feeling a different warmth in that embrace. Jim kissed his neck and shoulder, brought a hand up to turn his chin, so their lips could meet. 

The kiss opened his eyes. 

Jim was not the hurt and wounded animal he'd first seen. He was simply a man, trying to understand himself and his life, just like Blair. He didn't need mending, he needed freeing. 

The kiss deepened and Blair sank into it, his hands pulling Jim's arms around him, his body pressing back, greedily asking for and receiving more of this man. 

He felt Jim grow hard, wanting him again. Moving against his ass, fingers trailing across his ribs, touching him, feeling. Dropping lower to caress him through the fine cotton of the sarong, making Blair grow hard in response. Jim's hands, like the rest of him, were magical. 

Desire flamed bright between them in the space of a heartbeat and, using or used, Blair didn't care any more. 

"Jim?" 

"Mmn?" 

Blair pushed his whole body back, leaned his head against Jim's shoulder, let his hands cover Jim's where they fed his erection. 

No, he didn't care any more. 

With a twist of his fingers, he undid the sarong, pulled it free of their entwined bodies. Naked now, Blair leaned forward, inviting both with body and words, "Do it, Jim, please." 

Jim slid into him, completing him. With him, there, as the wind flickered to life, as the thunder wafted from east to west. Rain soon, came his silent prayer, rain soon. 

Jim moved inside him, filling him, holding him close, invading his life. And in the deepest parts of him, he allowed Jim to posses what nobody else had ever possessed. 

Sure and knowing now, Jim's hands stroked him, making him moan. His body shook, undulating against the slow even thrusts into his ass. Kisses bit across his shoulders, light and hard, hurting. 

He would be sore after this. It had been a long time since he'd been taken twice in one night. But still he didn't care. Didn't care that Jim's thrusts grew rougher, harder, deeper. He needed everything he could get, hold, take and keep. Needed it so that he wouldn't have to care. 

Jim was close, he could feel it, feel it within himself. Those hands gripped him harder, milking him, making him want so much more than he could ever have in this life. Driving him high towards that pinnacle, higher faster and faster. 

"Oh, god, Blair," Jim's voice echoed his own prayer as he felt hot seed shoot into him. It sparked off his own climax held at the top, held and held and then he was falling, falling, falling ... 

... aching and hurting and desperate and dying... 

And he cried out, a wrench from deep in his heart, tears falling down his face, sobbing, no stopping it ... 

"Oh, Jim, I love you so much but I know I'm going to lose you. I know I am." 

Then Jim was withdrawing gently, turning him around and just holding him, letting his tears flow, just holding him, stroking his tangled hair, pressing soft kisses to his head. 

"I'm sorry, Jim, so sorry." His tears kept falling and Jim kept holding him. 

Thunder rumbled, the clouds broke and rain spattered down on the tin roof. Within the sudden chill, Blair knew he did care. Cared far too much to live with this lie. 

* * *

Bathing was one of those things which, at times, felt really good and at others, seemed like a great imposition upon time itself. Then, when occasion allowed, it became something else to do, something required certainly, but an activity which permitted a quality of time-wasting, of hiding, of measuring and judging until the water pruned skin and time ran out. 

Blair watched the last of the water drain from the bath and once again, congratulated himself on making sure the water tank in this place was big enough to hide his fears in. In this heat, bathing in cold water was a blessing, on this day, simply bathing was a blessing. 

He stood before the mirror and began to shave. Deliberately avoiding looking into his own eyes, he continued on until it was done, finished and completed. Teeth brushing came next, then hair, combed but not dried. Clothes from the hook on the back of the door, lightweight cotton trousers and a fine, white shirt. He tucked it in, did up his belt, pulled his hair back and tied it up. Only then did he glance in the mirror - and saw the fear in his own eyes, just as he'd expected. 

Jim had been up and in the kitchen when he'd woken late. Impatient to avoid the moment of truth, Blair had headed straight for the bath, wanting a few more minutes to make-believe that Jim wasn't going to leave him, wasn't going to find some trigger inside him to put an end to all they'd shared last night. 

Some time while he'd been sleeping, the rain had ended, leaving the day blustery. 

Question was, would Jim be trying to fix the car - or would they be happy to wait for the boat, finding no trouble filling the day in between with ... 

No. He had to stay away from thoughts like that until he knew, one way or the other. But of course, standing here, staring at his reflection wasn't going to provide an answer. And the moment hadn't arrived yet for him to feel the full weight of regret. 

So he turned, opened the bathroom door and stepped out into sunshine grazing through the door to the porch. A flash of colour told him Jim was out there, standing in the shade, shoulder leaning against the roof support, a cup of something in his hand. 

Truth time. 

He stepped out, knowing full well that Jim knew he was there. The other man didn't turn, didn't flinch, didn't say a fucking word. 

But still, Blair was determined to know, one way or the other. "Good morning." 

"Good morning." Jim replied, his voice a feigned measure of interest, of enthusiasm, belying a host of inconsistencies hidden beneath. 

If it had been his choice, Blair would have gone to him, put his arms around that solid strength, kissed the man and asked what was for breakfast. 

But it wasn't up to him. Never had been - and that was the real tragedy of it all. Somewhere, some way along the line, he'd handed control of his soul over to this man. 

If only he could trust it would not be harmed. 

"Jim," Blair resolutely continued, needing to see it with his own eyes, to believe it. "Are you ..." But words failed him at the end, words, his great asset, left him standing at the door, too afraid to move forward, too in love to move back. 

"What?" Jim turned a little then, not looking at him but trying to show he was not ignoring Blair. 

"Look at me." Blair whispered, still needing that confirmation, unable to stop until it was his. 

And Jim did turn then, turned properly, his eyes darting to Blair's before moving quickly to other places less dangerous. 

Something dark and black shifted over Blair's heart then. He shut his mouth, closed his eyes, shook his head. "I knew it." 

"And if I say sorry, you'll kill me, right?" Jim's words were clipped, short of everything he intended. 

"Jim?" Blair breathed, straightening up, opening his eyes and meeting this new gaze as flat as he would ever manage. "I don't want to hear it, okay? I don't want to know, I don't fucking care. When we get back to the city, I'll work with you for an hour a day until you've got your senses under control. No more. After that, I don't ever want to see you again. Do you understand me?" 

Jim only nodded. 

With that, Blair turned and went back inside. Only crisp words greeted his departure, "I fixed the car. We can leave when you've eaten." 

So, only hours to go before he could carve off this part of his life and try to forget. Hours only. Before he could forget. 

Or before he could try to. 

* * *

One after another, the miles of lush jungle swept past him, hemmed in by the confining road. Thick, cloying scents filled the air, assaulting him like a memory of terror. The sun burned down, blistering and unforgiving. 

Too late, too late, the humming engine told him. Too late. 

He'd done it. 

Slept with a man. 

Too late. 

An unfettered monster, unleashed within him: panic. 

Too late, too late. 

It was past, done, completed. He'd slept with a man. Dared. Touched. Kissed. Held. Fucked. A man. 

God help me. 

Too late. Too late to go back, change it, change him, change time. Too late. 

God forgive me. 

Too late to take back the night, take back the pain, give back what he'd taken. Too late to undo, reform, return to the man he used to be. Too late. 

Somebody help me. 

Too late to stop this, slow this down. Too late to stop the demon's curse. Too late to live without regret. 

Understand, Blair, please. 

Forgive me. 

Too late to save him, to save his soul. 

Much too late. 

* * *

Blair pulled his suitcase out of the trunk and dumped it on the ground before the Raffles. A bell boy collected it immediately and carried it inside. Blair turned back to Jim, feeling the weight of car keys in his hands, the weight of odd, icy cold inside him. 

Jim stood there like a statue, seemingly equally frozen, face straight and expressionless, eyes dulled by something Blair didn't give a damn about. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed Jim the keys. 

"Take it. It's yours. I won't be needing it. Do what you like with it. Sell it if you want." 

Still Jim didn't say anything but Blair didn't want him to speak. Didn't want him to say a word. "I'll be here for the next couple of weeks. After that, I don't know. Come by the day after tomorrow, at 2. We'll spend an hour working on the dial thing. If you have any trouble between now and then, deal with it. I don't want to see you before Monday." 

He didn't wait for a reply. He just turned and went inside the Raffles. Back to the real world. 

* * *

"You see that one with the yellow sail?" 

Jim frowned, scanning the inlet cast with glaring sunlight. Simon came a little closer and pointed. 

"That one. There, next to the pearl lugger?" 

"The Belle?" Jim murmured, unthinking. 

Simon turned to face him, eyebrows raised. "How did you know her name?" The big man laughed, slapped Jim on the shoulder and nodded back towards the view. "I suppose you've been down there checking her out as well, eh?" 

Jim simply shrugged. It was as good an answer as he could give. Words seemed to elude him today. Words had killed Blair's love this morning. What else did he need them for? 

Blinking and rousing himself again, he turned and followed his friend back inside the house, back to where there was at least some shade if not relief from the heat. 

Simon's small house was as neat as he remembered the man being, back in the States. Not much in the way of luxuries, but there were little things that told of his success here in Singapore. The Indian rugs on the floor, the refrigerator in the kitchen, glass in all the windows. Electric lights. Not to mention the houseboy, Aki. Jim guessed he was about twelve. Simon knew the boy's father and had only agreed to take the boy on on the condition that some of his wages went towards an education. 

Aki seemed to treat Simon as though he were something of a god. Simon, on the other hand, treated Aki like a son. 

The boy had laid out fresh lime juice for them, in a jug half-filled with ice. It sat on the floor, between low slung couches of Indian design. Other local craftwork littered the place, rugs on the walls, baskets, a tall teak chest by the door. The house was nothing extraordinary, much the same as the rest of this area, named by the colonials, Little India. There were the two rooms on this level while upstairs were two bedrooms and a bathroom. Simon was considered to be a very wealthy man by his neighbours because he lived here alone. Aki came and went, returning to his father's house across the road when Simon's chores were done. 

Now, as he finished laying out the light meal he'd prepared, Simon put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "You can get going, now Aki. And tomorrow I want you to try reading that passage again. Try to find some time to practice before then, okay?" 

"Yes, Mr Simon. Goodbye Mr Jim." 

"See you tomorrow, Aki. And thanks for dinner." So, he could be civil at least. That was promising. 

The boy flashed them both a wide smile then disappeared out the door, closing it quietly behind him. 

"So you're teaching him to reading now, are you?" Jim sank onto a soft cushion and reached for a glass of lime in the same way he reached for conversation. Some way to fill the gap, some means to quench a thirst, some path back to normality. 

"Well, somebody's got to do it," Simon wiped the sweat off his dark face with the handkerchief he always carried with him, and sat opposite Jim. "His father's a good man but he thinks it's more important that Aki learn a trade rather than get an education. The locals don't earn much and every penny counts. Too many kids, that's the problem. Too many of them and not enough food to go around." 

"So you buy another boat and employ another three or four?" 

Simon laughed, "Hey, I'm no charity, Jim, I'm just trying to make a buck, here. And I only employ one boy per boat. Only men are strong enough to haul in the nets. I'm thinking of putting a new winch on the Belle \- but that will mean I only need five men and not six." 

Jim shook his head, "And you think you're not a charity. Right." 

Simon half-drained his glass and sat back with a savoury pastry roll in his hand. "So, how long do you want to work for?" 

Helping himself to some food, Jim ground the words out, from necessity. Everything seemed to require too much effort. "As long as it takes to earn a passage out of here." 

"That could take a while. How far are you planning to go? Back to the States?" 

"No." Jim glanced up, realizing he'd snapped that response. "Sorry, no, I doubt I'll ever go back." 

"Then where?" 

"Don't know. Anywhere but here." Anywhere but here, where he'd become this ... thing he no longer understood, no longer wanted. Was there a place in this world where he could be somebody else? Where he didn't feel this revulsion at what he'd done last night? 

"Why?" Simon took another pastry and munched into it. "If you were prepared to stay, I'd be prepared to let you work into a partnership. I'd like to expand into Johore, across the Straits of Malacca. I need to be there to set things up myself. I could do that if I had somebody like you working this side, keeping things rolling. Why don't you stay?" 

"I can't." Refusal, rejection and horror drove Jim to his feet. He strode to the balcony, rolling his glass between his hands, trying to keep them still. Before him the city stretched out, a jumbled confusion of colour and shape until the sea interrupted it. To his right, the Singapore River darted in and out of the view, to his left, the port, the colonial area. The Raffles. 

A menagerie of scents assailed him, sharp and sweet, bitter and acrid. The smells of this Asian city, co-mingled with western civilization. If he'd wanted to, he could probably stand here and identify more than half of them. At will. With no trouble at all. 

Two weeks, he'd said and then ... where? Back to Malaya, back to studying something that didn't bite back? 

"Jim, you're not in any trouble, are you? 

"No, nothing like that." 

"Are you okay?" Simon had come up behind him, not close - just there. A comforting, familiar presence. Such a shame Jim couldn't feel anything like that. Couldn't feel anything at all except the panic that rippled along the lower edges of his awareness, like the serpent in the garden. But he'd been tempted last night and like Adam, he had fallen. He couldn't afford to do so again. 

"Sure, I'm fine." 

"Shit, man you never change, do you? How long have I known you? Upwards of fifteen years? And still you walk around like a block of granite, wailing inside, claiming you're just fine on the outside. Come on, buddy, give me the juice. It's some girl, isn't it?" 

If Jim had been even remotely alive, he would have almost laughed at the irony - but he settled for shaking his head, just once. "No, it's not a girl." 

Simon was silent a moment before coming a little closer, still out of Jim's peripheral vision. "Is it ... a guy?" 

Jim froze, glass half-way to his mouth. 

"Hey, Jim," Simon continued, his voice low and careful, "I'm sorry if I'm way off base here, it's just that I've only ever seen you like this once before and that was when Carolyn left you - only I think maybe this is worse. Now if you tell me it's not a guy, I'll believe you. Won't say another word about it." 

"And what if I said it _was_ a guy, eh, Simon?" Jim whirled around, sharp fire flaring within his gut, fire to the fuse. "What would you say then? Would you tell me I'm sick? Perverted? Would you kick me out and never have anything to do with me again? Would you? Huh?" 

Simon simply stood there, eyebrows raised, completely unruffled by Jim's outburst. Then slowly, he reached up to adjust his glasses. "Well, that about says it all, doesn't it? I take it he lives here? In Singapore? And that's why you want to get out?" 

When Jim couldn't answer, Simon continued, "Are you gonna tell me what went wrong?" 

"What went wrong?" Jim's voice rose in disbelief. "Are you crazy? I've just told you I've been involved with a man and you want me to pour my heart out to you? I mean," Jim stumbled for words, shaking his head, snapping between anger and incredulity, way out of balance with both of them. "How could anything go right? We're both men, Simon! Since when have men been able to settle down together? Hell, if his friends knew they'd beat the crap out of him!" 

"Like you expect me to do to you?" 

The question was handed out cool and level, tripping up Jim's tirade. Jim just stared at him a moment, unable to comprehend any of this. Instead, he just pushed past Simon and headed back inside, looking for his jacket. 

"Where are you going?' 

"I have to find somewhere to stay the night. It's getting late. I don't want to be ..." 

"So you're not staying here?" 

"I have to ..." 

Simon grabbed his arm, fingers digging into muscle. "Listen up, Ellison. Yeah, I care that you've been involved with another man. Yeah, I think it's strange, abnormal and everything - but I'm not kicking you out because of it. My offer still stands. Work your passage out of Singapore - or stay and work into a partnership. It's up to you - but right now, I think you should just sit tight and try to get over this guy. Sit still long enough, okay?" 

Jim could only frown, his gaze searching the face of his friend, hoping to find answers. Why, he didn't know. There were no answers. Not for him. And certainly not here. "You think I'm abnormal and yet you're willing to let me stay? Aren't you afraid?" 

"Of you?" Simon let him go and stood up straight. "I've had bigger men than you try it on with me in the navy. No, I'm not afraid." 

"Just sickened, right?" 

"What do you want from me, Jim? Absolution for your sins?" 

"Hell!" Jim stepped back, looking for his jacket again. 

"Jim! Just stop, will you!" Simon's shout filled the room. "Look, I don't know what this guy's done to you, don't know what he said to you to get you into his bed but ..." 

Jim sprang. He had his hands on Simon's shirt, had the big man pushed up against the wall, arm across his throat before either of them could say another word. His heart pounding, Jim could only manage a whisper, but he put into it every ounce of fury and self-castigation he could. "Blair didn't _do_ anything to me, Simon! _I_ seduced _him!_ Got it? I'm the sick one, the perverted one! Think what you like about me, but don't you ever, _ever_ say a word against him again! Do you understand me? Do you?" 

Simon raised his hands to either side of him, eyes open wide, offering no fight. Slowly, Jim let him go, stepping back. He was shaking. His hands, his whole body. Shaking. Suddenly, he felt very tired. Silent. Cold. Empty. 

Empty but for the panic. 

"Simon, I'm sorry," Jim breathed, trying to steady his voice. "I'd better go." 

"No, my friend, I think you'd better stay. I think I'll be doing all of Singapore a favour by keeping you here until you get some reason back into your system. You can take the spare room. I had Aki make up a bed for you. Go on, clean up and get some sleep. We'll talk about the rest in the morning." 

Jim found himself nodding, turning for the step ladder. He paused, throwing a glance over his shoulder. "I am sorry, Simon. And thanks." 

"Go. Get some sleep. If it makes you feel any better, I'll take it out of your hide tomorrow." 

* * *

The sun had just set by the time Blair finished dressing and went down to dinner - but he only made it as far as the restaurant door before his stomach rebelled against the idea of food and his feet took him to the bar instead. It was a Saturday night, quiet only because it was early. A perfect opportunity to drink himself into oblivion before anybody could notice. 

He took a stool at the end of the bar, ordered a large vodka and willed himself to blend into the background, to disappear in amongst the other guests, milling around, in normal, ordinary conversation. Words blistered across his awareness, tearing up the concept of war, urging it forward like blind fools. 

They'd make money out of it, these people here. Lots of money. They didn't much care what and who would be destroyed by it - only that they'd make a fortune. 

He emptied his second double vodka, waved a hand for it to be refilled. 

How many countries would be involved? Austria was already annexed. Poland would be next. France was treading a very fine line and Britain was getting its hands dirty. Holland was too close to remain out of it for long. Maybe Italy and Mussolini would stand firm - but then, Hitler was a admirer of the loud Italian leader; they'd probably join forces. And with the war still raging in Spain, the whole of Europe would be the battleground. 

His glass was oddly empty again. The bottle came back his way, poured and disappeared again, accompanied by the discrete barman holding it. Good people, these. Worked into the ground, perhaps - but good. 

"I didn't expect to find you here." 

Blair glanced aside - then raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Bruno? When did you get back?" 

"This afternoon. I thought you were going to stay at the house for a few more days. Weren't you working with that American friend of yours?" Bruno paused to smile a little. "The one who knocked Carl's lights out? I have to say, I did enjoy that. Carl has had that coming for a long time after what he did to you. Maybe now he'll leave you alone. It would give me the creeps having somebody like that turn up wherever I was. Your friend packed a timely punch." 

Blair turned back to his drink, downing a healthy measure without coughing. Actually, he hated vodka. Didn't know why he drank it any more. 

"Hey, you okay?" Bruno placed a friendly hand on his shoulder. 

"Nope. Not even a little bit. Please, Bruno. I know you hate drunks so I suggest you go now, before your favourite anthropologist does something to make you hate him." 

"Blair," Bruno dropped his voice. "If you're going to get drunk, will you do me a favour and go do it in your room? Everyone in this place adores you. I'd hate for them to see you like ..." 

"Adores me?" Blair sat up straight, turning wide eyes on the blonde man. "How can they adore me, B, my friend? Eh? Do they know anything about me? Know what I like and don't like? Apart from vodka, that is - and let's face it, I hate vodka so why do they keep refilling my glass? But they also think I'm a professor and I'm not. Do they know what I do? What I'm studying? Do they know who I sleep with?" 

Bruno's eyes flashed and his hand reached out again, clamping down on Blair's shoulder with enough force to get through the mercifully growing haze in Blair's head. "My dear Blair," Bruno leaned close. "If you're hurting over that Jim fellow, I will understand - but believe me, sweet, I will personally throw you over my shoulder and carry you upstairs if you don't lower your voice and curtail your words. You will understand in the morning that I do this out of love. Tonight however, you will only feel the bruises. Now, are you going to behave?" 

Blair stared at him a moment - then took in a breath, glancing around to find nobody paying them any attention. Yet. He nodded, throwing Bruno a smile of apology. "I'm sorry, B. I'm just not ... much in the way of company. Perhaps you should just leave me and go back to your ... are you with friends tonight?" 

"What do you think?" 

Nodding, Blair turned back to his drink before pushing it away. Bruno patted his shoulder once before letting go, relaxing on his own stool without saying anything else. For a moment, Blair tried to concentrate on the conversations going on around him - but it was a hopeless cause. Nothing made any sense to him any more. And this dull aching mess inside him was totally unaffected by the vodka, damn it. 

"Bruno?" 

"Yes?" 

"Could you get away for a while?" 

He glanced up to find Bruno's eyes on him, reading - correctly - what Blair was asking. "I can't stay the night. Not here. You know that." 

"Sure, I know." 

"What room are you in?" 

"Same as usual." 

"You go up and I'll go make my excuses." 

"What will you say to June?" 

"That you and I have some business to attend to and that I'll be back in a few hours. Same as always." 

Blair nodded and slipped off his stool. He said nothing else but only watched as Bruno left him, heading for the Tiffin Room. Alone now, Blair walked out of the bar and climbed the stairs. The journey along the corridor seemed longer than usual, the tinkling of a piano from the courtyard the only sound he could really hear. 

His room was stuffy and hot and he spent a few minutes opening the curtains to let in some air. When he heard the knock at the door, he closed them again, switching on a lamp as he passed. He let Bruno in, locking the door behind him. The other man stood where he was, leaning back against the wall, simply watching Blair. 

For a moment, Blair couldn't move under that scrutiny. But then, without thinking, his hands came up, held Bruno's face between them and he kissed the man, deeply, drawing in some degree of strength from the way the man pulled him close, held on to him. 

There was nothing there - so Blair kissed him harder, putting more urgency into it, his hands shifting down to remove Bruno's jacket, run his hands over the powerful chest. Then Bruno was dragging him into the bedroom, removing articles of clothing from both of them before they fell onto the bed. 

"Will you take me again?" Bruno gasped between kisses. "Please?" 

"Yes, yes, I will, of course I will," Blair licked and sucked his way down the man's throat, urging his body to respond to the hands which fondled him. He did want this. He did need this. He needed it now. He couldn't ... 

"Blair?" Bruno stopped him, rolled him onto his back and lay on top of him. "What's going on? We haven't done this in months. Why now?" 

"Does it matter?" Blair frowned. "You want me. I want you." 

"Do you?" 

"Does it matter?" Blair repeated, irritation working away inside him. He really didn't need this right now. What he needed was to fuck this man, to feel wanted if only for a minute. 

"Yeah, well maybe it does." 

Unbelieving, Blair twisted out of his grasp and sat up. "What the hell is this, Bruno? Since when has it mattered? You have a wife sitting downstairs waiting for you to finish your 'business' with me. Do I ask you about her? Do I ask you if betraying her on a regular basis matters to you? No - because that's not how you and I work, is it?" 

"No - but when you're with me, I hope and expect that I'm the one you're thinking about. I don't go to bed with you and think of June." 

"And what makes you think I'm not thinking about you?" 

Bruno shook his head, "I can see it in your eyes. This is nothing more than hurt and frustration. Honestly, Blair, I don't care if you abuse my body a little - but I won't have you lie to me. Are you thinking about Jim? Is that what this is about?" 

Suddenly belligerent, Blair forced his chin up, "So what if it is?" 

Bruno raised an eyebrow, something of a smile roaming around his eyes, "And will you be thinking about him when you fuck me?" 

"No," Blair replied painfully, patiently, "I'll be thinking about fucking _you_ when I'm fucking you. Before and after, I can't promise anything more than that." 

The smile broadened a little, melting some of Blair's irritation. Bruno reached out and caressed his face, "Some days I wish I didn't find you so magical, Blair, my sweet. You know, the truth is, I wouldn't care who you thought about - as long as we could have these snatched moments." 

The words were not what Blair wanted to hear - but he ignored them, leaning into the kiss he was offered, reaching again for the man's body. He tried to focus on what they were doing to each other, tried to feel it, tried to - 

"Hell!" He rolled away, curling up into a ball. He started to shake and he couldn't stop it. He felt the bed behind him shift as Bruno sat up. 

"I take it he doesn't love you?" 

"I think he does." Blair murmured, unable to find any real voice. "But he just doesn't want to be with me. What's wrong with me, B? Why can't I find someone? I know you sleep with me every now and then, and I know you have other little adventures - but you go home to June, don't you? You love her?" 

"Yes." 

"And she loves you. Why can't I find someone? What is wrong with me?" 

There was silence a moment. Then Bruno got off the bed. "I'm sorry, my sweet, that this man won't love you - but I can't do this. I can't be lover and comforter to you. That's not why this works between us and frankly, that's not why I'm here." There was a moment as Bruno straightened his clothing and put his jacket back on. Then he came around the bed and pressed a cool kiss to Blair's forehead. 

Blair couldn't look at him. "Tell June I said hello." 

"Of course. You get some rest." Bruno said nothing else as he turned and headed for the door. Once it was closed behind him, Blair shut his eyes, hugged his arms around himself tighter. 

He took deep breaths into his body, willing himself to forget Bruno's words, forget his rejection. Instead, he wallowed in the vodka, letting his mind drift into nothing. Into a place where it was cool and peaceful, where the echo of Bruno's arms became Jim's and he could finally go to sleep. 

* * *

Jim took a seat in the empty Palm Gardens and opened the newspaper he'd bought on the way over. He held it up away from the new trousers he wore, reminded himself not to get ink on his shirt. In the humid atmosphere, it almost leaked off the paper and the last thing he wanted to do was to get the new clothes Blair had ordered for him filthy on the first wear. 

Blair had given them to him on Monday. The tailor had delivered them and when Jim turned up at 2 o'clock, Blair had handed him the packages, the last of the things he'd ordered and paid for before they went away. 

If Jim had had any choice in the matter, he would have refused them, left them sitting on the table. But he didn't have any choice - or rather, he did choose to let Blair hurt him wherever he could, trying to find some way to redress the balance. Taking and wearing these clothes seemed to satisfy something in the younger man, as though seeing Jim in them was a constant reminder of something he hated - and he needed, wanted to be reminded. 

They'd not got much done that first day. It was simply too difficult to be working on something so personal when they could hardly look at each other. But yesterday had been better, a little. Today would hopefully be better still - Jim needed it to be. Twice last night, while talking to Simon, Jim had blanked out. And his sleep had reverted back to the nightmares of the days before he'd met Blair. The torture had returned, only this time Jim took it as his penance, all due. It was the only way he could deal with the panic. 

He shifted the paper, keeping an ear out for Blair's approach. The headlines were all to do with a local gang who had pillaged and burned down an opium den in Chinatown last night. Another one. The Straits Times editorial was scathing, citing the rising crime rate, the troubles between the different ethnic groups as being the cause of a decrease in trade, of how only strict laws governing racial behaviour would cure the problem. Jim could only shake his head. 

The moment he heard the first footfall, he folded the paper back up. Thin tendrils of now-familiar fear laced through him as he came to his feet and turned. Blair, as usual, looked devastating in a white suit, hair pulled back severely as though in punishment, eyes dark and fathomless. He didn't stop. 

"Come on. We'll walk." 

Jim left his paper on the table and followed him out of the hotel and into the street. Blair didn't pause except to cross the busy road. Then they were walking towards the docks. Only then did Blair pause as they reached the promenade; a low wall between sea and the footpath above it. From here it was possible to see the whole of the busy port stretched out before them, never quiet, always frantically busy. Jim had had a chance to see it from the inside now, working as he had on Simon's new boat for the last three days. Tough work but the sheer physical strain of it at least guaranteed him a few hour's sleep - before the nightmares kicked in. And it was earning him some money. 

Blair's hands reached out and rested on the concrete bulwark, his gaze floating over the tangled conglomeration of ships and boats, tugs and cranes. "Any problems since yesterday?" 

It always started out like this. Short, sharp and to the point. They had lost the ability to do this any other way. Day three and Blair still wouldn't meet his gaze, too much anger nestling under the surface. 

"Some." Jim replied, equally short. He was no longer in danger now, had no trouble keeping his hands off this man. Longing and wanting were not a part of his life, hadn't been for the last five days. 

Maybe he'd finally found a way to rid himself of those feelings forever. But what a price to pay? What a price for Blair to pay for him? 

"Which sense?" 

"Not sure. I'm never sure after the fact." You know that, Jim added silently \- though he could never mention it out loud. 

Blair nodded. "Listen, I can't stay long today. I have to meet someone. Carl's coming back to the city. Wants to talk to me." 

Jim's gaze snapped around, fixing completely on Blair's impassive, too-calm face. "What? And you're going to see him?" 

Ignoring the question, Blair continued, "I want you to try those breathing exercises tonight, when you get home. When you do it, concentrate on that dial. See it in your head. Practice taking it up a little then down." 

"Right." Jim sighed and turned away. Why had he bothered asking? Why had Blair bothered telling him? 

"One more thing." 

"What?" 

For the first time in three uncomfortable days, Blair turned to face him, looking up at him with eyes that showed nothing. "Why didn't you tell me about the nightmares?" 

Jim started, a frown already forming. "What?" 

"We spent a week at the house, Jim," Blair continued without inflection. "A night of that, we slept together. That was the only night you didn't have a nightmare. I'm not as blind as you think. I just want to know why you never told me - even before that." 

Swallowing hard, Jim murmured, "Didn't seem important." 

A sharp, ironic smile greeted that statement. "Yeah, I had a feeling you'd lie to me about it. Well, it's your neck, your choice. Don't tell me if you don't want to. I have to go. I'll see you tomorrow." 

And then he was walking away, leaving Jim to steady himself against the bulwark. 

Jesus fucking Christ! 

Hell and damnation! 

A shudder ran though him as though a bucket of cold ice had been tossed over his frozen body. He turned back but Blair had already disappeared amidst the crowds. 

Briefly, the temptation to follow him, to watch his encounter with Carl was almost overwhelming - but it faded under the onslaught of that caustic fury contained so perfectly in Blair's few words. 

Like a blind man, Jim hailed a taxi and travelled home, not really paying attention to anything. It wasn't until he arrived at the fringes of Little India that he shook himself out of the half-blankout he'd been in. He got the driver to pull over, climbed out and paid him. 

He walked the rest of the way, as he always did, passing through a market where he stocked up on a couple of vegetables - then stopped at a grocery store for a few other things. By the time he arrived home, it was well towards evening, the nearby mosque calling the faithful to prayer, the sound becoming a prayer in itself. 

Simon was sitting on the balcony, his feet up on another chair, beer bottle in his hand when Jim came in. 

"You're late. Have any trouble?" 

"No." Jim dumped the groceries in the kitchen and grabbed a glass and the bottle he'd purchased. "Big catch this morning, though." 

"That's what I like to hear. Keep saying things like that and maybe I'll make you a partner anyway." 

Jim joined him on the balcony and sat in his own chair. With a twist of his wrist, he broke the seal on the whisky bottle and poured a healthy measure into his glass. 

"What's this?" Simon grunted. "I recall you as a beer only man. Hey, you haven't had another of those blank out things again, have you?" 

"No. Not since last night." 

"So, what's with the whisky?" 

"Felt like a change." 

"Well, you won't get out of Singapore if you keep drinking all your wages, you know." 

"Maybe I don't want to get out." Jim paused between mouthfuls and tossed Simon an apologetic frown. "Sorry, don't know why I said that." 

"Yeah, sure," Simon grunted again, turning his gaze over the massive view. "You're still hung up on that guy, aren't you?" 

"No." Jim stretched out his legs, put the bottle on the floor, rested the glass on his thigh. He felt numb inside. Perhaps the whisky would make him feel numb on the outside. Hell, he could only hope. "I thought you said you didn't want to know." 

"Well, that was before I saw you open the first bottle of whisky I've seen you drink in the fifteen odd years I've known you." 

"Simon, you know you're not going to understand - so why are we having this conversation?" 

"Shit!" Simon sat up, stuck his elbows on his knees and regarded Jim over the top of his glasses. "What is it with you and this ... Blair guy? No, I don't understand it - but then, you've never tried to explain it. I just don't see how you can ... you know, want to ..." 

Swallowing his own distaste with a mouthful of whisky, Jim shook his head, "You said you'd seen it in the navy. How can you say you can't see how a man could want another man?" Yeah, this numb feeling was good. 

"Sure, I've seen it - with my own eyes. Hell, you can't miss it!" Simon hissed, went to drink his beer only to find the bottle empty. "But that's not what I mean. You know in the navy men do stuff like that because, well, there's no women around." 

"Do they?" Jim asked simply, waiting for the other man to answer. 

"Sure they do. When a man's got to, you know, get some, he gets it. It's natural." 

"With another man?" Jim almost hated how easy this was. How perfectly easy to trap Simon. 

"Well, no, not with another man - but if there are no women around, you know ..." 

"You keep saying that - but you keep saying nothing. Tell me, is it natural for a man to be with another man or not?" 

"Oh, no," Simon stood up, shaking his head. He strode into the kitchen, grabbed another beer and came back out. "You're not going to make me say it, Jim old buddy. You've made your own life a misery. You don't need me to go making judgements to confirm your own." 

"But you would? Confirm my judgements?" 

Simon gave a harsh bark of laughter before sinking into his seat again. "Don't play me for a fool, Ellison. I've known you too long." 

"But you never knew I wanted to be with a man." Jim slipped this in without thinking then sat and watched Simon absorb it, chew it over, spit it out. 

"You're full of shit, Jim! You don't want to be with a man. If you did, you wouldn't be sitting here, night after night, emptying one bottle of gutrot after another. You'd be walking this city, street after street until you found him." 

"I don't need to." Jim looked away, drawing nothing useful from the busy view before him, nothing he could hold onto, nothing to snatch his mind from this. Five days had only made things worse. He emptied his glass, refilled it, took another sip before adding, "I know where he lives. It doesn't matter." Liar, liar, Jim Ellison. But why lie? Simon was a friend, struggling to understand, yes, but a friend nonetheless. 

"You are not the hell over him, Ellison - and stop pretending you are." 

"Pretending?" Jim raised his eyebrows and glanced back at the big man. "Sure I'm pretending. What choice have I got?" 

"Choice? You're sitting there, a free white man, educated with a steady wage - and you're asking _me_ what choices you have? Shit, you must really think I'm a fool!" Simon sat back and sucked on his beer, looking every bit as pissed as his words. "Why the hell do you think I live here, Jim? Because I like the sun? Sure I do - but that bitch of an ex-wife of mine won't let me near my son, won't let me close enough to be a father to him, no matter how many times I ask her. But I'm damned if I won't provide for him - so I'm here, in one of the few places in the world where a black man can own a business without getting himself lynched. You talk about choices but you don't know shit. You've had choices all your life, choices people like me only glimpse from a distance. You may have this ... perversion or whatever you call it - but you _can_ pretend, you can fake it, make it look like you're normal. Me? I have to wear my differences on the outside, where everybody can see them." 

"Maybe," Jim snapped, "but you can walk into a community of black people and feel right at home. Among your own people, you _are_ at home. You don't _have_ to pretend." 

"Fuck, Jim!" Simon yelled, "We all pretend! All of us, every day of our lives we pretend we're okay, that we don't miss our homes, our families, pretend that being kept from our sons isn't killing us. What is this? A competition between you and me? Who's been most hurt most by what we were born into? Shit, Jim, sometimes you make me so damned angry. You are what you are, whether you like it or not. Sometimes you just have to suck on the lemon and put up with the fact that it's sour! You're stuck on this guy. By the sounds of it, he's stuck on you. Why the hell won't you do something about it?" 

With a surprising swiftness, the numb feeling vanished. Jim lurched to his feet, towering over the other man. "Are you telling me you think it's right for two men to be together?" 

"What has right and wrong got to do with it? Or are you going to tell me my being black is wrong?" 

Jim paused at that, unable to look away from that stern gaze. Simon kept his silence for a minute, then turned his attention to his beer bottle, crossing his ankles and shaking his head slightly, "If you're perverted, then so is he." 

"Simon," Jim growled the warning but the other man just held up his hand. 

"You can't deny it, Jim. A fact is a fact. By your own definition, if you are, then he must be also. No, I don't understand how a man can want another man - but I do understand prejudice. From where I'm sitting, you're the one who's a bigot." 

The harsh condemnation blew all the anger out of Jim, pushed him back into his chair, empty for the moment but no longer numb. He wished he was. Wished he was anywhere but here, feeling this, having to live with it, knowing he would have to live with it for the rest of his life. He'd failed. Failed in so many ways. Failed to keep himself as he was, failed to keep his hands off Blair. Dazed, he watched Simon, watched the gaze drift out to the horizon. 

"You don't understand," Jim murmured, an explanation of sorts brimming out of him, "what I did to him, how I hurt him. There are no laws against _being_ black, but there are laws against what you're suggesting." 

"Oh?" Simon said quietly. "What am I suggesting?" 

When Jim couldn't answer immediately, Simon turned back to him, a level gaze raking over him. 

"This isn't a competition, Jim. It isn't. We all suffer discrimination, prejudice in one form or another. Hey, I'm a black man - but I still get a better deal than most black women. And because I'm American, I get a better deal than the local Indians and Malays here - and they get it better than their wives and daughters - and we all get it better than the Jews in Germany. There's no future in scoring points to see who's worst off." 

"So, what _are_ you suggesting? That I break the law?" 

"You've already done that." Simon let out a huge sigh and got to his feet. "I'm not gonna suggest anything, Jim. Not because I don't have an opinion - but because I know you'll pay no attention. You're too used to this. You've been doing it all your life. You're so good at pretending you don't feel anything, you don't know what else to do any more. I'm a man cut off from the only good thing in his life and I go out every day and pretend that I'm pretty much happy and at peace with the world. I'm the last person to be making suggestions. I'm going in to the office. I'll probably see you tomorrow." 

Jim could only sit there and listen to him leave. But once the door closed, his thoughts returned to Blair, as always. Blair - and his meeting with Carl. 

* * *

Three times he changed his shirt, his suit, his tie. Three times and still he hated what he saw in the mirror. Hair pulled back as tight as it would go, slicked and still curly, still breaking free. 

He had to find somewhere else to live. Somewhere outside the city, maybe somewhere north, where his friends wouldn't bother visiting him, where he wasn't known, where he could just fucking well be himself. 

Not that that was any great thing to be. Not judging by what he saw in the mirror. Too short, too thin, too ugly. Too wrong. Too perverted. Too unwanted. 

Poor little Blair, lost child, wandering in the big wide world, smacking his face into one brick wall after another and never learning a damned thing from any of them. 

Fuck you, Jim Ellison. Why did you have to do this to me? Make me ask questions I didn't want the answers to? Make me find them and hate them, hate what they've done to me, make me hate my whole fucking impossible lie of a life! Why? 

No, don't bother answering, I already know. Because you could. Because I was sucker enough to walk in blindly. Because I was too damned stupid to see what loving you would do to me. How much having your love would mean to me. How far I would go to get it. 

Well, feel safe now, Jim - this no longer has anything to do with love. It's all about hate - and you're on familiar territory with that, aren't you? 

Blair grabbed his comb one last time, raked it through his hair and pulled it back, tying it up. He would get it cut tomorrow. Nice and short. Just get rid of it. Didn't know why he kept it long any more. Not sure why he'd grown it in the first place. 

Done, he tossed the comb on the bathroom dresser and stalked out into his room. Without realizing it, he began pacing up and down, watching the shadow he cast on the wall. 

He had to calm down. Now. Annabelle would be waiting for him and she was far too shrewd to miss his agitation. 

Three times today, Jim had had the audacity to ask him how his meeting with Carl had gone. As though he had any stake in Blair's life. As though he gave a damn. 

Fuck you. 

He had to calm down. 

He came to a stop, hauling a full lung of air into him, holding it before letting it out. He did it again, then a third time. Only then did the agitation begin to settle somewhat, to the point where his hands were no longer shaking. 

Poor Blair. Needy Blair. Sleep with Blair because he needs it. But don't bother loving him. No, he doesn't need that. Doesn't mind if you just feel sorry for him, use his body then leave him. Nah, doesn't mind that at all. After all, isn't that what everybody else has ever done to him, his whole fucking life? Don't worry about the damage, don't even think about picking up the pieces afterwards. Hey, they're already broken, so what does it matter? 

Calm down! 

Another few deep breaths got him back again. A few more and he was steadier \- still fuming inside - but steadier. He needed a drink. 

More than one. 

About twenty, in fact. 

Maybe he could just tell Anna he was tired, at least until he got the first few under his belt and could manage to be civil. 

Yeah. Try. 

Swallowing down the worst of it, he headed downstairs just in time to see Annabelle drift into the Palm Gardens. He put a smile on his face to match hers, kissed her cheek and led her to the table he'd booked. The orchestra was already playing but it could have been Chinese opera for all the difference it made to him. 

"Blair, honey, I'm so sorry I'm a bit late but Barbara Whitmond came over for afternoon tea and kept going on about her last affair and simply wouldn't let me get on. Blair?" 

He shook himself, downed the vodka the waiter had automatically placed on the table for him and turned the closest thing to a smile he could manage on Annabelle. "Sorry, Anna, I was just thinking. And who's Barbara Whitmond's new affair?" 

"Oh," Annabelle waved a manicured hand in the air and settled back into her seat. "I'm not sure she's picked him out yet. Though I suspect she has her eye on you, my dear." 

Blair forced a chuckle and waved the waiter over, ordering another vodka and a bottle of champagne. The place was busy tonight. Perhaps he could hide himself among these people. They didn't know him - at least, not many of them knew him. And none of them _really_ knew him. Who did? 

"You know Bunny's finally got his new car? He's spent the last week driving all over the island showing it off. You'd think the man had never owned a Bentley before. That fellow has no shame. And little Lizzie Freemont is his constant companion now. That girl's in for a shock with him. I doubt she knows all his money comes directly from Daddy and since Lizzie hardly has two pennies to rub together ... well, she does do a lot with what she's got, mind. Very pretty girl - but honestly, Bunny is not the husband material she thinks he is." 

It was more than worthwhile simply watching Anna as she talked. Her porcelain skin glowed in the candlelight, her green eyes glistened and her smile came frequently and never with malice. With two vodkas in him it was easier to ignore the fury. 

"Blair?" 

"Mmn?" 

"Have you been listening to me?" 

"Of course. Bunny and his new car. Lizzie and her hunt for a husband. Do I need to take notes?" 

Annabelle laughed and swatted his arm, "You are such a naughty boy, Blair!" 

"Well, go on. Tell me about your day." 

"Good lord, Blair my darling, I've been talking since I got here! Surely you must be bored by now." 

"With you? Never." 

Annabelle laid her elbows on the table, rested her face in her hands \- and promptly looked about sixteen. "I honestly don't know why you put up with me. I haven't a clue what you're talking about most of the time. I don't give a fig for cross cultural differences or whatever it is that you're studying - but you are simply the most delightful creature. I confess, I can't help myself." 

Blair tried a grin to see if it would work, "Who's saying you should?" 

Annabelle raised her eyebrows as though she could see right through him. Knowing his luck, she probably could. "Blair, honey, are you alright?" 

"Of course." Simple, straightforward lie. No problem. 

"Forgive me, but I don't believe you. That's the third double vodka you've had tonight and we haven't even seen the menu yet. I know you - I know something's wrong. What is it?" 

"Anna ..." He frowned, pushed his glass away and stared down at his hands. "Look, I just have a few problems at the moment, okay? I promise, I won't bore you with them and I'll cheer up. I can't have you travelling all the way from home to here without giving you at least a single drop of my sparkling personality, can I?" He ended this with the first genuine smile of the evening. 

A gentle look warmed her face and he would have kissed her then if the table hadn't separated them. An impulse born of need rather than anything else. "Oh, Blair, why do you have to be so lovely?" 

"Me?" Blair laughed, almost naturally. "And here I was just thinking the same thing about you." 

"Oh, don't be silly." She moved to sit back but Blair caught her hand and on another impulse, brought it to his lips. 

"Anna?" 

"Yes?" 

"Why aren't you married yet?" 

Her eyes widened, quite delightfully - and then she laughed lightly. "Why Blair, don't tell me you're going to tell me off, too." 

"I wouldn't dream of it. Only, you are quite beautiful, with the heart and soul of an angel. I find it impossible to believe you haven't found somebody special yet." Blair paused, his heart leaping into his throat, blocking the passage of all the hideous black stuff lurking below. "And ... what would you say if I asked you to marry me?" 

Her brows drew together a bit, her breath catching in her throat. "Well," she murmured after a moment, "that would depend on whether you were actually asking me or not. Are you? Asking me to marry you?" 

For a second, Blair couldn't say a word. Then he found his head nodding, his own voice shaking a little, "Yes. I am." 

Annabelle was silent, unmoving as long minutes ticked by. More people arrived, laughter burst out around them, the orchestra changed songs and brought dancers onto the floor. Eventually, she squeezed his hand, pulled in her bottom lip and tilted her head to one side. "And what would you do if I said yes?" 

"I'd ... well, I'd marry you, of course." Hell, was he really doing this? Really asking her to marry him? Asking her to spend the rest of her life with him? 

"Would you?" Her dark green gaze was penetrating, giving him a rare glimpse of the fine mind she hid so neatly behind the socialite frippery. "I don't think so." 

"What are you ..." 

"Blair?" Annabelle leaned forward again, keeping her voice low, almost inaudible over the noise in the courtyard. "Most of the men I know only marry for one of three reasons. Because they've managed to get a girl pregnant, because they have fallen hopelessly and ridiculously in love and because they need the money. Now, it's been more than a year since you and I spent the night together. It's also a little late for you to proclaim that you are head over heels for me. And we both know your fortune is at least equal to mine." 

Without waiting for him to reply, Annabelle sat back, retrieving her hand. "Now, I'm going to be generous here and not take offence that you might be feeling sorry for me..." 

"No! Nothing of the kind!" Good god, not that! 

"Very well. Either way, my answer is no. Not that I don't want to marry you, mind. I don't know anybody else who treats me with the respect you do. But I can't. I know you'll think it foolishly old-fashioned of me, but I simply couldn't marry a man unless he could make me a solemn promise to be faithful." 

Blair's eyes widened and he almost burst out laughing - only Annabelle was terribly serious. "What on earth makes you think I wouldn't be faithful?" 

Anna only lifted her eyebrows before continuing in a level voice, "Blair, I'm not saying you'd lie to me and I know you wouldn't mean to betray me, but the day would come when you simply wouldn't be able to help yourself. And then, even worse, you'd feel so guilty about it, you'd come to me and confess all. Then I would have to get angry with you and I wouldn't enjoy that at all. And of course, the next time it happened, it would be worse and so on." 

Shaking his head in disbelief, Blair protested, forgetting everything else for a moment, "You honestly think that if I were married to you, I would even look at another woman?" 

She held his gaze just long enough to form an answer. A pointed answer. One he had never thought she would give him. Only then did she look away. 

Her silence spoke volumes. 

Stunned, Blair sat back, staring at her. When he could finally breathe again, he whispered, "How did you know?" 

Annabelle lifted a shoulder idly, her hands playing with her napkin. "I'm not as frivolous as most people think I am. I have eyes. I can count." She drew in a breath, as though steeling herself to say the next thing. "I know it's been six days since you returned from the house with the lovely Jimmy, six days during which you've been an absolute bear to anyone who dares to come near you. I confess, there had been in the past, the odd look now and then, little things I probably wasn't supposed to notice. That day at the picnic - the way Jimmy watched you, the way you looked at him. I'm sorry, Blair, but people are my business. I can assure you, nobody else suspects anything like the truth - and I have been listening, so I could warn you if something nasty was on the horizon." 

"Nasty?" 

What the hell was he doing? 

He pushed back his chair, "I'm sorry, Anna but ..." 

"Oh, Blair, don't!" Annabelle looked up, anguish in her eyes. "Please, don't be like this. I shouldn't have said anything; I knew you'd be upset. But you had to go and ask me to marry you and I just couldn't lie. Please. I don't hate you because of it. I don't think any less of you. In fact, I admire you for trying to put it behind you." 

"But you wouldn't trust me to be a faithful husband. And you'd be right." Blair's voice cracked with hardness, and he hated that sound, hated the look on her face. "I'm glad you said no. You deserve someone much better than me. I'm sorry, Anna. I'll see you to a taxi. You really don't deserve to hear the things I'd really like to say right now. Come on." 

She said nothing else - but she did stand. He paid the bill and took her out into the street, helping her into a waiting taxi. When she was gone, he headed into the bar, collected a whole bottle of vodka and returned to his room. 

It was a good thing he hated this drink. It suited him perfectly. 

* * *

Jim walked into the Raffles and paused only long enough to absorb the Friday crowd. Afternoon tea, hoards of chattering women filling the courtyard, a string quartet oozing away in the background. Not much of an atmosphere in which to work on his senses. 

And where was Blair? 

Jim came to a halt beneath a white arch and tried to dial down his hearing against the unceasing noise. But after a minute, he stopped; he would never notice Blair arriving otherwise. 

"Are you waiting for someone, sir?" 

Jim turned to find the maitre'd approach him, humble and polite in the extreme. "Yes, Professor Sandburg." 

"Oh, I see. I'm sorry, I haven't seen him so far today. Could I perhaps offer sir a coffee while he waits?" 

"No, thanks. I'm sure he'll be down in a moment." 

"Of course. Please do let me know if there is anything you need." A smile, genuine, a slight bow and then the man backed away, resuming his duties. 

Jim settled back to wait - until he felt an odd tingling up the back of his neck. Turning slowly, he saw a face he recognized, watching him curiously. Tall, handsome, blonde with eyes bordering between hazel and green. Blair's friend from the party. Bruno. 

"You're Jim, aren't you?" Bruno said evenly, smiling a little, friendly. 

"That's right." 

"Are you waiting for Blair?" 

"Yes." 

Bruno approached, stopping with one hand in his trouser pocket, the other gesturing towards the bar. "Can I buy you a drink? Blair can find you just as easily in the bar when he's ready to come down." 

Jim frowned, "A drink? Why?" 

Bruno shrugged easily, more of a smile warming his face, "I'd like to talk to you." 

About Blair? What else? "Okay." 

With a nod, Bruno led him towards the bar, pushed the door open and went inside. He chose a booth table, ordering them both beers from the waiter. Only when the drinks arrived and he'd taken a sip, did Bruno speak again. 

"I suppose if I were to ask you what happened between you and Blair, you wouldn't tell me?" 

Jim sat back, folding his arms, leaving his beer untouched. "If he hasn't told you, I'm not going to." 

"Why not?" 

"Hey, Bruno, I don't know you, okay?" Jim tried to keep the sharpness out of his voice. "If he wants you to know, he'll tell you." 

Bruno smiled, lifting his hands, "Okay, okay, I didn't expect you to answer." 

"Then what did you want to talk about?" 

Raising his eyebrows, Bruno took another mouthful of beer and placed his glass back on the table, his gaze never shifting from Jim. "Carl Flesham." 

Jim's guts twisted together, rekindled anger bubbling beneath the surface. Carl, the man who had hit Blair supposedly in the act of making love. "What about him?" 

Bruno chuckled slightly, "Well, for a start, I wanted to thank you for what you did at the party. Carl has had that coming for a long time." 

"Well, if you felt like that, why didn't you do something yourself?" 

"Oh, trust me, I wanted to. However, I made the mistake of saying so to Blair when I first found out - and he talked me out of it, saying that using violence against someone like Carl would only make matters worse." 

"Worse?" Jim had to swallow a mouthful of beer before he could trust himself to speak again. "Worse? The man has hounded Blair for the last three years - how could it be worse?" 

"Look," Bruno sat forward, his voice dropping, "Carl knows things about me, things I wouldn't want advertised. I have a wife and children to protect. I wasn't about to ..." 

"You're married?" Jim blinked. 

Bruno stared at him a moment, then laughed a little, sitting back again. "You're shocked." 

For a moment, Jim was tempted to laugh at the whole stupid situation \- but that steady gaze helped keep him contained. It was odd, but he couldn't help liking this man, his comfortable way, his relaxed manner even when talking about painful issues. Even so ... "You're married and yet you ... I mean, you ... with Blair ..." 

Bruno didn't laugh at his stumbling efforts to say the obvious. He merely shrugged, "Occasionally. We haven't for a while. Might not do again." 

"Why not?" 

Shaking his head, Bruno gave him a smile, "My dear Jim, if you won't discuss your relationship with Blair, how can I discuss mine?" 

Jim frowned, "I just don't understand how you can ... spend time with Blair and yet go to such lengths to protect your wife and family. I mean, does she know you're betraying her?" 

Disbelief crossed the handsome face, "Of course she doesn't know. Why would I want to tell her?" 

"Then you feel no guilt?" 

If Jim had meant to hurt with that question, he failed. Bruno simply shrugged again, draining his beer. "My guilt or otherwise is my own business, Jim. Don't presume to judge something you know nothing about. I doubt you'd understand - even though I can guess what happened between you and Blair." 

"Now who's making judgements?" 

Bruno came to his feet, "I make no judgements, Jim. I am merely expressing concern for a very dear friend who has already suffered at the hands of one man in his life. If you care about him at all, do the right thing, will you?" 

"That's a bit rich, coming from you." 

Bruno just stared at him, the easy smile vanishing. "I'm think beginning to understand what Blair was talking about." 

Jim should have been angry at that statement - but he wasn't. He rose to his feet, "What does that mean?" 

"Why don't you go and find him, ask him yourself?" Bruno nodded and glanced at his pocket watch. "It's been interesting talking to you, Jim. I hope you'll think about what I said." With that, he turned and left the bar. 

Looking at the clock on the wall, something of concern tugged inside Jim, rattled there by Bruno's words. Blair should have come down by now. He was an hour late. 

Keeping the frown from his face, Jim went back to the Palm Garden, glanced around to check, then found the maitre'd once more. "Can you tell me which room I can find Professor Sandburg in?" 

"He always has the same room whenever he comes to Raffles, sir. Would you like me to call him for you?" 

"No," Jim held up a hand, something like fear gripping him from inside, where it hurt. "That's okay. I'll go up and see for myself. Thank you." 

He knew where the stairs were. Sure he knew. He'd been here before, hadn't he? And yes, nobody had moved them. Climbing them was hard, though. Legs didn't seem to want to work. Fear did that. Fear. Always this damned fucking fear ... 

... God please let him be okay please let him be okay... 

He gained the second floor and strode along the passage, his shoes clipping on the hard wooden floor. The words in his head drifted into silence as he counted off the rooms, his breathing short and unworthy. When he came to the right door, he swallowed, not wanting and wanting warring inside him like a pair of battling freight trains. 

Let him be okay, please. 

He raised a hand and knocked. 

Nothing. 

He knocked again. 

Nothing. 

He stood there, redundant and terrified. 

What had happened? He'd been okay yesterday, hadn't he? Well, perhaps not, very angry underneath, sure, but really not much worse than the previous three days. Especially when Jim had asked him three times about Carl. 

Carl ... 

Christ! 

Jim knocked again, louder, almost desperate now. Please, please ... 

Another knock, insisting and suddenly the door was pulled open. 

Blair stood before him, the picture of perfection. Neat shirt, neat hair, neat expression of complete confusion on his beautiful face. He looked at Jim as though he didn't recognize him. 

"Are you okay?" 

"Me?" Blair tilted his head a little, blinked and stepped back. "Sure. I guess I'm late." 

And then all life in that face shut down as he turned and left Jim standing at the door, turned and headed towards the French window where he stopped. For long minutes, Jim waited for something, relief easing away to more disquiet. Blair was okay - in that he was in one piece - but there was something wrong. 

Jim stepped inside the room and closed the door behind him. He moved as far as the desk and came to a halt. Keeping his voice steady and level, he said, "If you want to cancel today, that's okay you know." 

No answer. 

"I can come back tomorrow." 

No movement. 

"Blair ... I ... is something wrong?" 

"No. Nothing's wrong, Jim. I'm fine." 

Fine? Right. 

Sifting for answers, Jim glanced around the room hoping to find one. The bed was made, things were put away, tidy, more tidy than he remembered, totally unlike the Blair he knew. What was going on? 

Finally his gaze drifted to the desk where the normal mess had been rearranged into piles of papers and books. Only one thing looked out of place. A single sheet of paper, unfolded; a telegram. 

Even if he'd not been a sentinel, he would have read it easily, compulsively. 

Received news today stop Jacob Sandburg passed away on November second stop Family not expecting you to return in time for memorial stop Sincere condolences stop - 


It was signed by Crimpton, the Sandburg lawyer. 

Hell, the family couldn't even inform him, themselves? They had to get a lawyer to do it? 

"They spared me the diatribe about the loss of a great man, so I guess I should be thankful." 

Jim glanced up to find Blair hadn't moved from the window. His shoulders sat square and rigid, hands pushed deep into pockets. 

"How do you feel?" The question came out without Jim's thinking attached to it and he winced in trepidation. 

But Blair only shrugged. "How do I feel? I guess I feel like a man who's just lost his grandfather. Lost something I never really had. Happens to me all the time so I think I must be used to it." 

Jim looked away. All things considered, he should probably leave. Should was such a great word, allowing for guilt and expectation without ever committing to either. 

He sat down on the chair by the desk. "When did the telegram arrive?" 

"This morning, when I woke up." Blair's voice was flat, without any inflection at all. "I guess I should have sent you a message not to come, but I couldn't find your address. Had to clear up my desk to find it and by then, I'd forgotten why I was looking." 

"That's okay." Jim said this more because he needed a reply than anything else. 

"I'm leaving on Tuesday." 

"What?" Ugly panic reared its head again, seizing his innards the way an eagle gripped its prey; with an eye to the kill. 

"I've booked a passage on the Dartmouth. I suppose you'll want to make the most of it while I'm here so I'm willing to go to two hours a day if you need." 

"But what about your ... work, your thesis?" 

"I have all the data I need. I'll finish writing on the ship and send it when I dock." 

"Are you ... going back home?" 

"Jim, you know I don't have a home. No, I'm not returning to the States. Why should I? He's dead now and there's no point to empty justice." 

"Justice?" 

"Doesn't matter." Blair turned then, turned and walked across the room, his footsteps softened by the plush carpet beneath his shoes. He came to a halt before Jim, his face in shadow, beautiful and brittle. "You'd better leave now." 

"Why? I don't think you should be alone when you're like this." 

"Like what?" Blair's face cracked a little, something hidden peeking out. "I'm perfectly calm." 

"Oh yeah," Jim laughed disparagingly, "and you don't think _I_ know what's underneath that calm? Come on, Blair, this is me you're talking to!" 

Blair's eyes flashed. "Jim, go. Now." 

"Not until I know you're okay." 

Blair opened his mouth in wry disbelief, "You just don't listen do you? I'm standing here, warning you to get out now and you're sitting there paying no attention at all." 

Jim met his gaze, for the first time in a week, feeling no fear whatsoever. Odd, strange and inexplicable - but there it was. "That's right." 

"You fool!" Blair hissed - but before Jim could move, Blair had taken the last step towards him. With angry hands, he gripped Jim's face. Hot hard lips crushed his, reeking vengeance and desperation. 

The first touch sparked something in Jim, sparked something between them, something wild and uncontrollable. Without even thinking about it, Jim was pulling Blair onto his lap, blindly wanting, his mouth opening, taking the tongue thrusting into him. His arms held on as his face was gripped so hard it would bruise. Blair plundered his mouth as Jim took his. Not once did he give up or give in - and Jim didn't want him to. 

Frantic hands slipped down his body, feeling, feeling for something, searching, looking. A moan escaped Blair, his heartbeat pounding, his body searching equally, requiring, demanding. 

Jim stood unsteadily, keeping his hold on the man, keeping the kiss in tact. Together they stumbled towards the bed. Blair pushed him down, fevered now, leaving Jim's lips to place sharp bites on his chin, his neck while his hands quickly found buttons, zippers, his whole body urging him on. 

Unable to stop himself, Jim kissed him again, reached between them, found the hard need between Blair's legs, fumbled until he could release it, to caress it with his fingers. 

Blair moaned again, aching, hurt, pushing against him, keeping him there, tying him down, thrusting as though it would kill him to stop. Caught up in the tidal wave, Jim's senses rebelled and fed on everything, all at once, his own need, his own urgency matching everything the other man did. 

He caught the loosened hair in one hand, pulled the face back down to kiss those lips again, even as he felt himself draw near, felt Blair join him. Violent now, the thrusts increased, sharp and hot, slick as their cocks rocked against each other. Blinding, overwhelming heat suffused him and he grabbed Blair's ass, forcing him closer. One more thrust and Blair cried out, his mouth leaving Jim's as he came, Jim gasping in shocked air as he followed, so close, so near, so far away. 

The thrusts slowed as the last juices were lost, until Blair had had enough. He collapsed down on Jim for a moment - then abruptly rolled away. Dazed, Jim couldn't form the words he knew he needed to say, could hardly get his muscles to respond. 

"Get out." Blair whispered, turning onto his stomach and burying his face behind his arm. "Just get out." 

Those words were the end for Jim. He'd failed again. And he was going to keep on failing. That was exactly the kind of man he'd become. 

He slid off the bed, paused in the bathroom long enough to clean himself off and straighten his clothes. Then, without even looking at the man he loved, he turned and left, closing the door firmly behind him. 

Concluded in part five.


	5. Chapter 5

Due to length, this story has been split into five parts.

## Prison

by Jack Reuben Darcy

Author's homepage: <http://internetdump.com/users/angiet/>

Disclaimer and notes can be found in part one. 

* * *

Prison - Part five  
By Jack Reuben Darcy 

"Shit!" Heart thumping hard in chest, Jim sat up and blinked into the darkness - but the dream was gone - again. Again he was left with the same vague feeling of danger he couldn't isolate. Instead, it simply woke him, sweating, swearing and alone. Groaning, he rubbed his hands over his face and let his gaze latch onto a thin thread of moonlight coming through his window. 

"Jim? You okay?" Simon pushed the door open a little, shoving glasses onto his nose. Concern hedged his words, his tone - his very presence and Jim waved a hand. 

"Fine, Simon, I'm fine. Sorry I woke you." 

"I wasn't asleep. And you're not fine. That's the fourth time you've woken up tonight. Look," Simon scratched his head, glanced around the room once then turned back to Jim. "How about I make us some coffee? I can't sleep, you shouldn't sleep. Why don't we try being miserable together?" 

Jim smiled despite himself. "Yeah, sure, why not?" 

He pulled on some clothes as Simon went downstairs to put the kettle on the stove. When Jim joined him, Simon was pulling leftovers out of the fridge, giving them a sniff before placing them on the bench. Jim pulled down plates and mugs. 

"So, you going to tell me why you're miserable?" 

Simon shrugged, grunted and spooned ground coffee into a jug. "Got a letter from my lawyer. Daryl is coming over for Christmas." 

"What? But that's terrific!" Jim almost laughed. "What the hell are you miserable for?" 

"Because he'll have to go back afterwards. By the time he gets here, we'll have maybe two weeks together before he'll have to start back. His mother doesn't want him to miss too much school. How can I achieve anything in two lousy weeks? I haven't seen him in three years. Shit, it's hardly worth him making the journey." 

Shaking his head in disbelief, Jim clapped a hand on Simon's shoulder and turned him around. "Simon, you'll have two whole weeks with him! Two weeks. Fourteen days and I don't know how many damned hours! What, are you telling me now, after all these years, you really are an idiot? This is the best news I've had in a long time." 

Simon only scowled up at him. "It's been three years, Jim. How the hell can I know what to say to him after all that? He's fourteen. Whatever he needed from a father, he's already learned to live without." 

Jim had to laugh - or he would have hit the bigger man for that. "Just like you've learned to live without your son, eh? Right, I get it. You're afraid it might go wrong so you're going to worry yourself into an early grave and probably ruin the whole visit. Yeah, that's a good move. That way, you won't have to worry he might want to come back during summer, for a longer visit." 

As Simon's eyebrows rose, Jim continued. "How do you know this hasn't been as hard on him as you? You were a good father, Simon. He loved you three years ago. Give him the chance to love you now. Look forward to this; enjoy it. Make the most of it." 

"Yeah," Simon grunted, only melting a little - though his shoulders relaxed slightly as he turned back to make the coffee. "Well, don't expect me to go dancing through the streets, okay? At least not for a few days. You're hardly the one to be giving me sound advice on making the most of it." 

"You've got that right." Jim turned back to the food and began picking at a piece of chicken. The ensuing silence was only punctuated by the kettle whistling, the hiss of boiling water poured into the coffee pot, the clang of metal on metal as the kettle was replaced on the stove. 

"You going to tell me?" Simon placed both hands on the bench, standing in profile to Jim, his gaze ostensibly on the coffee. "Or are you going to keep it all to yourself as usual? Something happened today, didn't it? Something with Blair?" 

Jim nodded, ignoring the cold sitting in his chest and picked another piece of chicken. "Yeah, something happened with Blair today. But you really don't want to know the details." 

"Why? You go to bed with him again?" Simon glanced up. "Actually, you know, I do want to know the details. I don't understand - and that bugs me. You love this guy and he's making your life a misery." 

"He's not - " But Jim didn't get to finish his denial. Simon simply held up his hand. 

"You want me to stop blaming him, Jim? Then you tell me why I shouldn't. You explain it to me because I don't know shit, okay? I'm just your friend, the man who has to listen every night to the way you wake up, calling out his name from another nightmare. I'm the one who has to try and get you out of these damned blank out things you do, without any idea why you won't go to a doctor about it. I want to understand, Jim. Tell me. I can take it. I already know about the sex. Tell me the rest. Tell me why this is killing you." 

Jim found he was holding his breath all the way through this, discovered it when his lungs began to protest. When he finally relented, Simon was pushing a cup of coffee into his hands, steering him into the other room and pushing him to sit down. 

"Come on, Jim. Spill the beans. You owe me the truth." 

"Yeah," Jim sighed, gazing into his coffee in hope of salvation. "I guess I do." 

* * *

Aki had finished putting the lunch things away by the time Jim got out of the bath and dressed. He came downstairs to find Simon sitting at his desk, flipping through one paper after another. He looked up, swept his gaze over Jim's choice of clothing and shook his head. 

"That man has good taste in clothes, I'll give him that much." 

"And bad taste in men?" 

Simon gave him an evil grin, "Exactly. Listen, do you know if this Carl guy is really back on the scene? I know he's been harassing Blair for the last three years but wouldn't he be scared off, if you hit him as hard as you did?" 

"I might have scared him off - but Blair and I aren't together, so why should he stay scared?" 

"Then you're worried?" 

Jim pulled on his jacket, feeling more than a little uncomfortable with this situation. "Simon, that's not a good thing to ask me." 

"Right." Pulling in his bottom lip for a second, Simon got to his feet and faced Jim. "So, what are you going to do? Just sit with him for a couple of hours? Working on this sentinel thing?" 

Jim shook his head, giving Simon a wry laugh, "I told you before - I don't buy this sentinel crap. He's helping me control my senses - though after what happened yesterday, I'm not even convinced he wants to see me at all." 

"But you're still going." 

"What choice have I got? I need his help." Jim would have gone on but there was something in Simon's eyes he hadn't seen before. Anger. Real anger - but he had no idea where it came from. "What's up?" 

"You. This ..." Simon waved a hand at his clothes, "This game you're playing. You've hurt him so you keep going back to him so he can hurt you in return. Feeds your guilt, keeps the bad blood between you nice and fresh. I don't think you want a solution any more, Jim. I don't think either of you do." 

"Jesus!" Jim turned for the door, his insides crawling now. "You're making me wish I hadn't told you. I'm going because I have to control my senses \- nothing more. Just forget it, okay? I'll see you later." 

He was out of the door and into the street before Simon's voice came to him, words shouted over the balcony. "You're just going to let him leave?" 

Jim kept walking. 

* * *

It was just on dark by the time Jim arrived at the Raffles. It suited his mood. Black clouds hovered on the horizon, threatening another downpour, threatening to break. He walked inside without flinching, automatically setting his gaze to roam the foyer, the Palm Gardens, up to the tiered balconies. There was no sign of Blair. 

This was what the place would look like after he'd gone. An empty shell gleaming crystal and silver, full of vacant people. 

Gone. 

It would be over, at least, that much was sure. Over and done with. He could get on with his life. 

What life? What was he now? Who was he? Where would he go and what would he do with himself now he had the promise of control over his senses? Could he go back to Cascade? Rejoin the police? 

If he returned to the States, he would be drafted into any war his country might be a part of - and drafting would soon reveal his hypersenses. 

So, no going home. 

What else? 

What else, indeed? 

He wandered towards the bar, pushing the glass door open long enough to listen. The place was about half full, the usual pall of smoke obscuring even the ceiling fans. Hot, stultifying, foreign. Blair was not here. 

He left the bar and took the stairs up to the next level. And then he heard it. Laughter. Laughter he hadn't heard for far too long. 

Without pausing, he turned down a corridor and made for the Tiffin Room, his ears supplying more sounds, things he didn't want confirmed with his eyes. 

But they were. 

He stopped in the doorway, his presence obscured by a potted palm. By the opposite wall, near a window, sat Blair - and Carl. They were both laughing. From the sound of it, Blair was already drunk. 

Should. Great word. Should leave. Should never come back. Should. 

He went in. He took a seat slightly behind a pillar. He ordered a coffee and waited. Listening to one conversation he could pick out amongst the others in the room. His coffee arrived. He drank. 

He concentrated on Carl's voice, memorizing it. Dialled up his sense of smell, picking up what he could of the man's scent. Forming a recognizable image he would be able to find anywhere. 

Why? Why was Blair even talking to the man let alone openly flirting with him? 

He sat there as long as he could, longer than he'd expected he could \- and then he stood, turning further into the room until Blair could see him. Blair didn't - Carl did. No fear was displayed on that superior face. Not a shred of it. 

With an amused eyebrow raised, Carl placed a hand on Blair's knee and gestured towards Jim. Blair turned, saw him, laughed as though his presence was a joke and turned back to Carl. 

A game. Simon was right. They were playing a game. A game which Jim was very tired of. 

It was too late to stop it, too late to change it - but Jim wasn't going to play any more. 

He stood his ground until Blair, nagged by his silent presence, murmured an apology to Carl and stood. He wasn't yet so drunk he couldn't walk straight - but his eyes were glazed, something of alcohol in his smile that made Jim's skin crawl. 

"What are you doing here?" 

"What's Carl doing here?" 

"Jealous?" 

Jim allowed a single heartbeat to go by before he replied, "Yes." 

This brought a peal of soft laughter from Blair. "Too bad, Ellison. I don't think you're his type." 

"What are you doing with him?" 

"What's it look like? I'm enjoying myself. We've kissed and made up." 

Something black and hideous reared inside Jim then. He grabbed Blair's arm, fingers gripping deep into muscle and cloth. "Stay away from him, Blair. He's only going to hurt you." 

"Let go." The words were uttered softly but with deadly intent. Abruptly, the outer edge of Blair's drunkenness vanished, leaving Jim pinned to his place by a dark blue gaze flooded with anger and raw hatred. 

Jim released him, but didn't move from his place. "You can't keep going back to him, you know? He'll destroy you." 

Blair stepped a little closer, his voice dangerously quiet. "Jim, you listen very carefully to me because I will not repeat myself. You are no longer a part of my life. I am a grown man, capable of making my own decisions, my own mistakes. I don't care if you can't accept that. I don't care if you can't accept Carl." He paused only to take in a breath. "I don't care about you. Go away and don't come back." 

With that, he turned and went back to Carl. 

For a long minute, Jim didn't move, didn't so much as breathe. Every instinct in him shrieked for action, for decision, for something. Anything to make this change, to go back in time so he wouldn't make these mistakes again. 

Grown man. Made his own mistakes. Made this happen. 

Nothing more than a game. 

He left. 

* * *

Simon stormed out of the kitchen the moment Jim stepped in through the door. "What the hell are you doing back here?" 

"What?" 

"Did something happen?" 

Jim shook his head, too tired, too exhausted outside and in to take any more. Blair was right. This was long over. Over for more than a week. Was over the moment they'd gone to bed together. Just that neither of them had seen it as such. 

"No. Nothing happened. It's over. I'm going to bed." 

Simon stopped him, a hand on his arm, insistent, demanding and totally uncompromising. "What happened?" 

"Simon, I just can't do this, okay?" Jim turned to face him, seeing the anger unmasked there but feeling nothing that could rise to it. "I need some sleep. God, I need sleep. I need peace and quiet. I need to forget about this. I need to forget what I've done. I need to know he's safe. I need to know somebody will love him. I need to know he'll survive this. I need to forget this ever happened." 

Standing close, Simon murmured, "He was with Carl, wasn't he?" 

Nodding, Jim tried to prise himself loose from Simon's grip. "Yes, yes, he was with Carl, okay? He told me to leave. Doesn't want to see me again. Doesn't care about me any more. Is that what you want to know, Simon? Is that it? I'm bled dry, there's nothing more I can tell you. Hell, Simon," Jim's voice rose higher and higher, "just let it rest! Let me rest!" 

"Jesus Christ, Jim," Simon whispered, horror threading his voice and expression. "What has he done to you?" 

"Nothing! Nothing! I did it all. It's all my fault! Simon, just let it go!" 

"No!" 

Jim tried to twist away and Simon pushed him up against the wall, holding him there with greater size and more determination. "Where's your will gone, man? Eh? Where? Are you just going to let him go? Let him throw his life away on a succession of Carls? Are you just going to take this? And don't you dare tell me I don't understand - because I do. I understand completely. Come on, we're going back!" 

"What?" Jim stared at him, at this madman in the form of his old friend. "I can't go back. I don't belong there." 

"You are going back, Ellison, if I have to kick your ass all the way there. Now stop objecting and let's go!" 

* * *

The taxi dropped them at the corner but Simon didn't push him to go inside the hotel. Instead, he steered Jim until they stood by the wall, below the Tiffin Room. With his hand still on Jim's arm, he glanced around to make sure they were alone in the dark and said, "Listen, Jim. Put those damned hypersenses to work. Listen and find him. Listen to what they're saying." 

"I don't have that kind of control." 

"Yes you fucking well, do!" Simon's hiss was sharp, his grip pushing Jim back against the wall. "Listen. Find out if Carl is a threat. You can do this. You have to. You have to ... you have to protect your ... guide. Yeah, that's it. You have to protect your guide. Just do it." 

Jim's gaze snapped around to Simon, his mood snapped around to sharp instinct, matching the urging voice. Protect. Yes, god yes. Protect Blair. Blair wanted trouble, wanted it badly. Was going to get it. Protect. 

Jim listened. 

Voices. Lots of voices. Focus, pinpoint, draw it in, just the way Blair had taught him. His guide. 

His love. 

Hell. 

The love of his life. A man. 

"Can you hear anything? Can you find him?" 

"Yes." Jim straightened up, looked up to help himself focus. He frowned, pushing it harder, distinguishing noise from noise, ambience from influence \- and there, it was. Blair's voice, Carl's voice. More laughter, glasses moving, swallows. 

Blair was very drunk now. Carl was stone cold sober. 

Dread seeped into Jim's stomach. Carl was waiting. Waiting for the right moment, his voice oily and too-sincere. 

"Why don't we go for a walk, my dear? Help you clear your head." 

"Why don't we just go to bed, eh?" 

"Blair, I don't want you passing out on me before we can get to the fun and games. It's been such a long time - I want to enjoy you all night. Come on. Let's walk along the promenade." 

Movement. Blair staggering to his feet, Carl encouraging him. Leaving the Tiffin Room. 

Jim began walking along the wall of the hotel, keeping a faint trace of their passage towards the front of the building. 

"What's going on?" Simon kept to his side. 

"Carl's bringing him out for a walk. I don't like this, Simon. I know he's up to something." 

"But what? Surely it'd be safer with them out here, in the open?" 

"Carl is a vengeful, spiteful human being. He'll make Blair pay for the fact that I hit him. I don't like this at all." 

He came to a halt by the corner, keeping both himself and Simon out of view as Carl brought Blair out, an arm about his waist. Blair was staggering, leaning on Carl more and more as they crossed the road, walked until they reached the promenade. 

"We should get closer." 

"No cover, Simon. Have to see if they move further on." 

"Can you hear them still?" 

"Yes." 

Simon fell silent then, letting Jim work as he was born to do. 

Say no, Blair. Please, say no. 

* * *

It was so much cooler out here by the water. Nice'n cool. Nice palms, nice promenade, nice sea. Nice Carl. 

Nah, Carl wasn't nice. Not even a little bit. But he did hold Blair up okay. Stopped him from falling down. That was okay too. 

Okay to hurt. Inside. That was okay. He could accept that now. 

"You know, my dear, how much I've missed you since we were last together? There hasn't been a man I've slept with who could blot out the memory of your lovely body." 

"Oh, thas nice." Blair looked down at his feet. Were these new shoes? Had them made in Johore, last year? Comfy, they were. 

"One week wasn't nearly enough to make the most of you. Two weeks and I would have tamed you. Three and you would have been mine for as long as I wanted you." 

"You hurt me." 

"I did nothing you didn't want, Blair, remember?" 

Blair lifted his head, pointed a finger somewhere near Carl's chest. It was hard to do because Carl kept shifting and moving around, fading in and out. "You hit me. Din like that mush." 

"Of course you did. We all like a bit of rough now and then. You were begging for more." 

"Only begged once in my life an that wasn with you. I r'mber. Was Jim. He didn hit me. You did." 

"Ah, the big American who used brute force where words failed him. Careful here, there's a few steps down. We can walk on the sand tonight. The tide's out. There's just enough beach for us to walk along." 

"Sand? Yeah. Thas good. Like sand." 

Sand on the beach, below the house, where Jim had kissed him the first time, gave him a moment of hope. Long wonderful moments where the world opened up and anything, anything at all was totally possible. There had been love in those kisses, real love, deep love, lasting a lifetime. But love had turned to shame had turned to pain, to anger and now this. 

God, vodka was good! Worked really well this time, for the first time, like Jim's first kiss, hope swam in the vodka. Maybe he wouldn't feel it when Carl did it. Maybe he would feel nothing. Wanted that. So tired of feeling. So tired. 

He tripped but Carl caught him, pulling him close, breathing against his face, pushing his lips against Blair's. Was dark here. Nobody would see. Nobody cared anyway. Didn't care what he was. Who he was. Accepted him just as he was. Huh. 

"No, not much enthusiasm there, is there, my dear? Still thinking about the big man, eh? Don't worry, I'll make you forget all about him. I think he actually loves you. Funny, isn't it? He loves you, embarrasses me in public - and I end up with you in my arms, at my mercy. Don't you find that funny, my dear?" 

Blair's knees didn't want to play any more. Kept sagging on him, making him lean on Carl more. Still, at least somebody was ready to hold him when he fell. 

"Don't worry, my dear Blair, I will make you forget him. I'll make you forget all of them." 

Carl was pushing him back against the bulwark, holding him there against the wall, dark in the shadows. Very dark. And noisy. Docks very close by, road up above. Could hear them. 

Carl's hands slipped down his body, feeling him. The stone was rough behind him and Blair frowned, trying to focus on the man in front of him. 

He blinked. "You're not Jim." 

Carl stopped. "What?" 

"You're not Jim. Wasa matter? You deaf?" 

"You want Jim?" 

"What're you gonna do to me?" 

"What do you think?" 

"You gonna hit me?" 

"My dear Blair, not unless you want it." 

"Okay. Then get on withit. S'cold out here. Feeling dizzy. Can' we do this in bed?" 

"No, not this. For this I need darkness. I need you where nobody will hear your screams." 

Nobody does. Screaming now and Carl can't hear it. Screaming for help. For somebody to help me. Gotta drown this pain. Can't live with it any more. Need help. 

"Okay. Jus do it." 

Carl came close, holding his face against the wall with one hand. Blair closed his eyes. He didn't want to see this happen. Knew what was coming but didn't want to see it. 

Wasn't that after all, what he'd done with Jim? 

The blow, when it came, felt like nothing. Just a tingling on the side of his mouth, a vague impression of Carl's hand. It wasn't enough. Not enough pain. "Again." 

"I knew you liked it," Carl hissed, his voice very close, seething with the same things Blair had always hated about him. Carl's tongue came out and licked the corner of his mouth, where his hand had connected, then kissed Blair again. Blood. He could taste his own blood. 

Taste his own rejection, his own destruction. 

A hand reached down and pushed against his cock, digging deep, squeezing, having no affect. Carl let out a satisfied laugh, "Yes, my dear, you do need a lot of encouraging tonight, don't you?" His other hand slid up Blair's neck, pushing against his windpipe for a minute before taking a good hold of his jaw. 

Blair felt the movement just before it came. Carl brought his head away from the wall - then cracked it back. Hard. 

Blair groaned. Before he could move, Carl did it again, this time, the violence shocked his whole body. Pain lanced from the top of his skull down his spine, waking him, shaking him. 

His eyes snapped open but his gaze was wild. "Don't." 

Don't. No more. Won't make the pain inside go away. Don't do it. I don't want it. Don't want any more pain. Won't make it better, won't make Jim love me. Won't make me love me. 

"No more." 

Carl gripped him harder, fingers twisting his cock, his balls, inflicting more pain, his voice hissing against the side of Blair's face. "That's more like it. You love this, don't you? Come on Blair, fight me." 

Don't want how you make me feel. That's not what I am. Want the way Jim makes me feel. That's who I am. 

A third crack and Blair's knees gave way, nausea rising in his throat. Blackness drowned out his vision, as he gasped to breathe. From somewhere, he heard voices but it didn't matter any more. He tried to struggle but the alcohol wouldn't let him. Instead, Carl hit him once more and pulled him away from the wall. "Filthy little baggage! Not fit for what I could give you! You've been spoiled. Fucked by too many _nice_ men. You don't know the first thing about real pleasure." 

Blair put his hands up to push Carl away but his head was spinning, no sense of balance, no sense of anything at all. Legs wouldn't work, eyes wouldn't work - and then he was thrown away, and falling, falling to the water. 

He landed face down, head killing him, body paralysed, cold cold water, soft water, painless, painless. Kind water. 

Silent. 

Can't move. Dying. 

"You bastard!" Echoes through the water, violence, a cry and a heavy thud. 

Water moving around him, moving him. 

"Blair? Blair?" 

Hands grabbing him, pulling him up, turning him over. Still paralysed, dying. 

"Come on, Chief, breathe! Please!" 

"Is he alive?" 

"I don't know. He's not breathing." 

Dying. Dying. 

"Come on, Blair, don't do this to me." 

"Get him out of the water, Jim. It's okay, I've got Carl. He's not going anywhere." 

"Get an ambulance! Jesus, Blair don't do this. You have to breathe." 

"Hey, you there! There's been an accident. Call an ambulance. Call the police." 

Soft arms. Strong arms. Jim's arms. 

Jim. 

Always had to fight him, to push him. Pushed too hard and lost him. 

"Blair, you have to breathe! Listen to me. Try to breathe!" Beautiful voice, ragged now, heartbroken. Jim? Don't worry, Jim. S'okay. S'okay now. I understand now. 

"Blair!" Gasp, holding him close, kissing his face, "Please, Blair, I can't lose you like this!" 

Pain. Pain's not good. Pain's not enough. Need more. Need you. 

"Jim, lie him down. Right here. Jim, let him go and try to get him to breathe." 

"I can't! Don't know how!" 

Other hands touching him. Feeling chest. Head. Hard now. Fading. Numb everywhere but on the inside. Dying. 

Love you Jim. 

"Jim, I ... I think ... he's dead." 

"No! This can't be happening!" 

Shaken, rattled, shaken, pushed, forced, killed. Sirens wailing in the distance. 

Jim's mouth on his pushing air in. Pushing. Not letting go. Not ... not ... 

"I can hear a heartbeat, Simon. I can hear it. He's still alive!" 

More air pushed in. Pushing him. Pushingpushingpushing... 

_Oh god!_

Blair convulsed in Jim's arms, dragging violent air into his lungs, opening his eyes, fighting, pushing back, struggling, gasping, fighting the dream, the pain, the paralysis. God, help me. Help me. Breathe in, breathe out. Move. Just move. Survive. 

"Blair!" Jim pulled him close, holding him still, strong arms keeping him steady, not letting go. "It's okay. You're gonna be okay. Just keep breathing. That's it. Just keep breathing. Thank god!" 

"Sorry, Jim," Words, mouth moving only. Blair relaxed then, the last of his energy drifting away. He no longer had strength enough to reach out. "So sorry." 

"Ssh, don't talk. We'll get you to a hospital. You're going to be fine." 

Jim didn't let him go and that was okay. Blair kept his eyes open long enough to see another man leaning over him, smiling, black face almost invisible in the night. And he heard sirens, too. Saw flashing lights coming nearer. Okay. 

"I'm sorry." 

* * *

A rustling breeze dusted across the tops of the palm trees which lined the hospital garden. Neat, clipped edges kept grass away from the redbrick path. Sunshine left deep shadows on corners of the building, on the bench seats, across Jim's feet. He sat with his forearms on his knees, hands clasped together, eyes gazing at nothing at all. 

It was quiet here. So quiet, it was impossible to think. Didn't matter much. He was virtually beyond thinking now. 

"Jim?" 

He stood up and turned to find Simon walking towards him. "How is he?" 

"He's fine. Doing just fine. They're letting him out this afternoon." 

"So quickly?" 

"It's been three days. He was lucky to have only a concussion - Carl could have cracked his skull or broken his neck. They've only kept him in this long because he stopped breathing. Relax, Jim. Blair is sitting up in bed, joking with the nurses and dying to get out." 

Jim let out a slow breath, easing away the tension so twisted in his stomach. He met Simon's gaze. "Can I ..." 

"He still doesn't want to see you. At least, not yet." 

Swallowing, Jim murmured, "Did he say when?" 

With a hand on his elbow, Simon steered Jim towards the car, parked in the hospital lane. "Yes. Tomorrow. Five o'clock. If you want to, that is." 

"Does he want to see me?" 

"Yes, he wants you to see him at five tomorrow. Now come on. The doctor's given me some sleeping tablets for you. You're going home and you're going to stay there and get some real sleep for a change." 

"Did Blair say anything else?" 

"No. Jim? Don't argue. You'll find out what he has to say tomorrow. Let's go." 

* * *

The subtle tap on the door drew Blair away from his packing. He pulled it open to find a room service waiter with the tray he'd ordered. Rather than let the man in, Blair took it, thanked him and carried the tray across the room to the balcony table. He put it down carefully, making sure he didn't tilt his head too much. Most of the pain was gone now, but any really swift movements still had the power to make him horribly dizzy. 

Coffee, sugar, cakes, sandwiches. Afternoon tea without the tea. This place simply couldn't go half-way. He smiled. 

Turning back to his packing, he paused when he saw the outline in the open doorway. 

"Hi." He said carefully. "Come in. I'm almost done." 

"So I see." Jim closed the door and watched him for a minute. Tall, beautiful and caged. "So, you're still leaving?" 

"Lost my berth on the Dartmouth. I think it sailed yesterday. Fortunately, the Fremantle is leaving tomorrow morning and it happens to be going where I want to go. Not only that, it's a much nicer ship. With a swimming pool, no less. Quite luxurious. I took a look at her this morning. There's some coffee on the table. Help yourself." 

As though relieved to have something to do, Jim went to the table, giving Blair a chance to watch him, really see him for the first time in so long. And yet, it hadn't been that long. Only a few weeks, really, since the first time Jim had walked into this room, revealing so much inside a matter of minutes. 

Blair placed the last shirt in his suitcase and flipped the lid closed. He left it lying on the bed and joined Jim on the balcony. The big man sank into a seat as though it would give him strength, handing Blair a cup of coffee as he did so. 

"You're leaving." 

With a careful nod, Blair kept the table between them and leaned back against the railing. Almost the same positions as they'd held that first night. A night of innocence, of unconsidered consequences and failed reactions. "It's time I was moving on. I'd already finished my research. At least, enough to finish my thesis. I don't need to be here to finish writing it." 

"I thought you wanted to do a follow-up study on the Chinese culture here compared with that in the mother country." 

"It was just an idea. But I've been here too long, I know the place too well. I feel like a change of pace." 

Jim dropped his gaze to his untouched coffee. Stiff shoulders and unmoving hands spoke volumes. Such a work of art, this man. A rock amidst a sea of sand. 

The voice was cast low, careful, not hesitant at all. "Are you leaving because of Carl?" 

"He's behind bars. I've made a statement to the police. That combined with your testimony and Simon's will keep him there until they can deport him. He's a good man, your friend Simon." 

"Yeah, he is." Jim paused, his face a chiselled essay void of emotion. "Are you leaving because of me?" 

Blair swallowed down the last of his coffee and placed the cup back on the tray. "Yes." 

Jim glanced up sharply at that, blue eyes gauging pain for pain. He opened his mouth to say something more but Blair raised a hand to forestall him. He had things that needed to be said. And he had to do it soon or he would never make it through the next day in one piece. 

"I've been doing a lot of thinking. When you're in the hospital, they don't provide much in the way of entertainment. Just me and my bruised head." Blair paused, making sure he held Jim's gaze. "You saved my life." 

"I nearly got you killed!" Jim snapped, springing to his feet. He slammed his cup onto the hard tabletop. "Christ, Blair I ..." 

"Simon told me how you were listening. How you blanked out. How he had to hit you hard to get you moving. So I suppose, you both saved my life. Will you give this to him for me?" Blair reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. He handed it to Jim. "It's a cheque. Not a lot of money. Just a few pounds to spend on Daryl when he gets here. Please make him believe it's not any kind of payment - but a genuine gift. He's been good to me - and to you. I just want to thank him." 

"I don't think he'll use it - but I will give it to him." Jim shoved the envelope in his pocket and turned away, placing his hands on the railing. There was something about that stance that spoke to Blair, in words that could never be said aloud. 

"I understand, Jim," Blair said softly. 

"No, you don't." 

"I do. But I didn't before and that was the thing. Like I said, I've been doing some thinking. Thinking about what I almost let Carl do to me. Wondering why I let him. Wondering why things happened between you and me the way they did." 

"Hell, Blair, it was all my fault. If I hadn't ..." 

"No, Jim. It wasn't all your fault." Blair kept his voice firm. "It was _my_ fault. I ... I knew what you were feeling. I understood - I just ignored it. But you were ..." Blair had to turn away then, place his gaze on the buildings opposite, on the busy street below. This wasn't easy. Not easy at all. "I should never have told you about my grandfather. About what he did to me, and why. I knew how you'd react. That's why I kept it from you. I knew you wouldn't be able to accept it - but I forced you to. I just had to have that, you know? Needed it." 

He could see from the corner of his eye that Jim had turned towards him. He took a breath and continued. "All my life I've wanted that one thing, acceptance. It always seemed such a little thing, easy to give. But over the years, I kept seeing it wasn't that easy - so I convinced myself I didn't need it. That I was happy as I was and therefore it didn't matter if nobody else accepted me. But somewhere in there, nagging in the background was this feeling that maybe I was fooling myself, that the reason why nobody would accept me was because I was wrong. Being what I am, who I am. A small seed of doubt, but it was enough." 

"And there you were, this real live sentinel. I wasn't kidding when I told you sentinel research had been a hobby of mine. Believe it or not, that's why I studied anthropology in the first place. I never dreamed for one minute I would ever meet one. You have no idea how much that meant to me. That's why I couldn't let you go, why I pushed you into so many things." 

"Maybe that was your mistake - assuming I was one of those sentinels. But Blair, you didn't push me into anything. What I did was - " 

"Only what I knew you would do." Blair glanced aside at him, carefully schooling his face. "That night when we made love, I knew all along how it was going to end. I should have stopped it before you did something I knew you'd regret. I knew you would panic. I knew the crisis it would throw you into. But I guess I wanted to believe that you could love me; that you, so totally against this whole male thing, could be convinced that it was okay. I thought that if I could make you change your mind, get acceptance from you, that would make up for all the others who'd rejected me. I suppose I used you. And then ... then I hated you for it. Hated myself." 

"Blair, it's not your fault. You _were_ happy before I came along. You know that as well as I do. You were happy, you had your friends here, your life. People who accepted you." 

"People who didn't really know me. People who only saw what I wanted them to see. All I did was pretend to be normal in their eyes. Believe me, Jim, that's no way to live. That isn't me. I never wanted to be like that. I did like the way I was - and yes, you coming along did make me ask a lot of questions about myself. But those questions needed to be asked because I was fooling myself. Fooling everyone. I was working so hard to get something I needed while every step of the way only took me further from it." 

Jim stared at him for a moment, then looked away, "Well, I'm just glad your grandfather's dead." 

"This isn't his doing, Jim," Blair wanted, needed to get closer, but it was impossible. The wall around Jim was built of brick and stone. Always had been. Always would be. Trying to break it down had brought them to this place. "If it hadn't been him, it would have been someone else. Everyone else. The world is not a very forgiving place. I ..." Blair stopped, finding the words hard to say, even though he meant them so much. "I want to be better than that. That's what I was aiming for all along." 

"You _are_ better than that, Blair. You are." Jim shifted, lifted his head, gazed up at the sky, restless, uncomfortable. He pulled in a short breath, turned back into the room and stopped. After a moment, he faced Blair once more, his voice coming harsh and raw. "Don't go. Stay. You won't even have to see me again unless you're in trouble. Just don't leave." 

Blair went inside and stood before him. "What would be the point in staying? We'll never have any kind of relationship. Even if we could get past everything that's happened - you don't want that." 

Jim clenched his jaw shut, his eyes flinty blue and hard. "I need you." 

Swallowing down the sudden lump in his throat, Blair kept to his calm, held onto it fiercely. "No, you don't. You've got Simon to help you now. You've got a hold of the techniques to keep your senses manageable. You'll be fine. Really. Trust yourself, Jim. You'll be okay." 

Jim's face changed then, softened, his gaze dropping to Blair's shoulder, down to his feet before he shook his head again. "I'm sorry. I should have said it a long time ago. I never meant to hurt you. It was never intentional - but I guess, accidental hurt isn't any less painful." 

Unable to help himself, Blair reached out, put a hand on Jim's arm, took a step closer. "It's okay, Jim. We'll both survive this. When I'm gone, you can set about rebuilding that life you always wanted. Become Simon's partner. Work on the boats. Give yourself something constructive to do." 

Jim's gaze never left his, so deep, so gentle - and then without a word, Jim pulled him close, held him, cradled him. 

Blair felt his resolve almost weaken in those arms, catching that familiar scent. But he didn't say anything for a moment. He just stayed there, making the most of what he had, while he had it. The habit of a lifetime. 

"Where are you going?" Jim whispered against his head. 

"South America." 

"Why?" 

"Thought it was time I followed my instincts. Do some sentinel research. Try to find a working sentinel and guide. A lot of South America is still largely unexplored. I'll see what happens." 

"You'll be careful?" 

"Of course." 

Jim slowly lifted his head to look down at Blair. Something in that gaze brought the ache inside Blair to the fore, made it burn. He swallowed and snatched in a breath. "Jim, I ... I'd really like to kiss you goodbye but I don't want to do anything you might not ..." 

He was silenced by a single finger on his lips. Just one. And then that face tilted down towards him and the finger was replaced by Jim's lips. 

For a moment, Blair lost himself in the kiss, felt his whole body warm to it. Jim opened to him, inviting him in and it was so hard not to pull him closer, to make more of it than was being offered. Jim tasted so sweet, of coffee and life, moist and hot and letting go was the most difficult thing he had ever had to do in his entire life. 

But let go he did. 

He didn't see Jim leave. Didn't hear the door open and close behind him. Only knew that he was gone. Only then did he mouth the words he'd kept to himself, mouth them only, silently, so even a sentinel wouldn't hear. 

"I love you, Jim. I always will." 

* * *

The haunting echo of an Imam's call to prayer floated out over the rooftops of Little India, counterpoint to the screeching of gulls crying out the impending dusk. The combination of the two together drove Jim to his feet again, brought him to the window, searching the sky - for what, he didn't know. 

He couldn't sit still. He'd sit and get up, sit and get up. He'd tried lying on his bed when he'd first got home - but that hadn't lasted long, either. Now he stood with his hands pressed against the glass, seeing small pieces of the city between the tops of the trees which grew behind Simon's house. He was looking in the wrong direction, of course, looking north. What could he see? 

Already the sky was a deep azure, filtering away to black in the west. In a matter of minutes, there would be a star there, the first of the night, but by no means the last. Then the view would darken until there was nothing left to look at. 

He stood there only a moment before he turned back and sat on the bed, pushing his hands together, trying to hold them still. The count of a dozen heartbeats had him standing again, pacing only to stop by the wall where he sat once more. 

The window drew his gaze again, where he could watch the night approach, the last night, followed by the last morning. 

In a few hours, it would be all over. Blair would vanish into the outside world and Jim would never see him again. 

But he _would_ survive. He would be alive. And one day he would find a good man to love, be loved in return. It _had_ to happen. Love without the pain and hatred Jim had tossed at him in contempt for his own weakness. Perhaps Blair would even find a real sentinel, be the incredible guide he was destined to be. Blair had a good future out there waiting for him, once he turned his back on all this. 

Once again, Jim surged to his feet, paced back to the window, too much energy in his body to encompass calm. 

Right now, it wasn't over. Right now it was still real and Jim couldn't help but feel each minute itch by, counting the seconds until the man was finally gone from his life forever. While these seconds held, they were still in the same city, on the same island, part of the same life. 

How strong had he been when he'd first come here? He'd been confused, angry, abused by senses he didn't understand. Two years of torture had only strengthened his resolve, not weakened it. 

So why had he failed? Why had he allowed his attraction to Blair to drive him to this place? Was it only love that had done this? 

Love! Who the hell needed it? Who needed this kind of hell? Who needed to spend hours worrying about what would happen to somebody else, where he would go, what kind of dangers he might encounter? Whether he would ever find that someone he was looking for. 

Damn it! 

That night ... that night he'd made love to Blair ... He'd given Blair what he needed - at least, that's what he'd been thinking, what he'd believed at the time. But had it really been true? If so, then why had he panicked the next day? Simply giving Blair what he needed shouldn't have changed Jim so much that he would panic. So why had he? 

Because he'd made love to Blair out of his own need, his own wanting and for no other reason. Selfish reasons, all of them! Too many years of denying what he wanted, to find himself in a place where he could have it for the asking. Only he hadn't asked, he taken. 

Restless again, he turned back to the room, found a spot by the wall and sat. This time he would stay. No more roaming, looking for whatever. Just damned well stay! 

More than two hours since he'd last seen Blair. Two hours since he'd kissed the man. His lips still remembered that touch, felt the imprint as though it would stain his soul forever. 

"Jim?" Simon knocked on his door and opened it. He took one look at Jim and came in, seating himself on the side of the bed. "How're you doing?" 

"Okay." 

"Feel like some food?" 

"No. You go ahead." 

Simon nodded, glanced around the room then turned back to Jim. "You just happy to sit there?" 

"Please, Simon, don't say anything, okay? Just don't!" Jim shook his head sharply and raised his eyebrows at the bigger man. "What?" 

"Nothing. Just glad to know that bastard Carl is behind bars until they deport him." Simon grunted. "I thought you were going to kill him." 

"I meant to. Good thing you stopped me or I'd be the one rotting in prison right now." 

"Oh, that's very funny, Ellison." Simon barked laughter and shook his head. "You did tell Blair I didn't want any money, didn't you?" 

"Yep. But he wanted you to have it, a kind of good luck with Daryl wish. Buy your son something nice with it, eh? Remember that the man who gave it to Blair was a bigoted, narrow-minded, selfish bastard who never knew what he had even when he lost it." 

"I thought you said Blair's money came from his grandfather - not you." 

Jim ignored the attempted joke and stood once more. The window beckoned him and he stopped before it, deliberately watching the northern sky, the direction in which Blair wasn't. 

Simon sighed. "I'm sorry Blair's leaving. To be honest, I like him." 

"What?" Jim glanced over his shoulder. 

"Well, he wasn't anything like I was expecting. I'll grant you, I probably didn't see him at his best - but visiting him in the hospital three days running, we got to talking and well, I like him, okay? Got a problem with that?" 

"No," Jim shrugged, wanting to pace but knowing what Simon would say if he did. "Actually, I'm glad. I hated the idea you'd think he was some kind of monster. That's my role." 

"And now you're gonna protect him from yourself and let him leave." 

"Simon," Jim groaned but the bigger man just held up his hands. 

"Okay, okay. I won't say another word." He got up off the bed and turned to leave when a harsh knocking sounded on the front door. "I'll be making some supper so it's down there if you want it later." 

"Thanks." 

Simon waved a hand and disappeared downstairs, closing Jim's door as he went. Released, Jim resumed his pacing, twisting his hands together like it would make a difference, make this feeling go away, stop making him think that something terrible was about to happen. Every instinct, every shred of his shredded being reeked with foreboding. Disaster stalked him and he couldn't sense where it was coming from. 

"Jim?" Simon's voice bellowed up the stairs. "Jim, come down here." 

"What?" 

"Just come down, damn it!" 

With a hiss of barely contained irritation, Jim stormed to his door and pulled it open. He stomped down the stairs to find - 

"Blair?" A cold wash of something rippled through him, freezing his restlessness in one swift second. 

The young man was standing with Simon, hands in his pockets, looking nothing at all like the calm, composed man he'd left at the Raffles. Instead, his expression was dark, his eyes a beacon in that night, hair pulled back, severe and uncompromising. 

"You're an idiot." 

Jim frowned as Blair came forward and Simon stepped back. "What? What's wrong? What are you doing here?" 

"What's wrong?" The hands came out of the pockets then, arms spread wide. Blue eyes gazed up at him as though they could impart the wisdom of the ancients. "What am I doing here? Are you kidding me? Would you like to take a guess?" 

There was no mistaking the sheer fury contained in those words. Even Simon heard it. 

"I'll go and leave you two ..." 

"No!" Jim tore his gaze away from Blair. "Stay." 

"Yes, Simon, you'd better stay," Blair snapped. "Jim doesn't trust himself to be alone with me. And why not? Because he loves me. I know it, you know it - even Jim knows it. He just won't say it out loud. He's afraid of what it will make him." Blair took another step closer to Jim, making Jim back away. "But he's too stupid to see that if he feels it, saying it won't make it any more real. If he feels it now, he'll always feel it. It won't change who he is because he was born this way. Same way he was born a sentinel and he still, after all this time, all that work, refuses to believe it." 

Jim had nowhere else to go, his back was literally against the wall and Blair finally stopped in front of him, his voice rising, his hands moving wildly. 

"You just don't get it do you, Jim? You don't listen, you don't learn, you don't want to. Why is it so terrible for you to let yourself be happy? And we could be, you know? You and me. We could be very happy - but you'll just let me leave and then regret it for the rest of your life. Hell, why _am_ I here?" Blair backed away then, beginning to pace the small room. "Yeah, I listened to you, listened to you talk about perversion and how it wasn't natural for two men to be together. I listened really well. I listened every time you told me you weren't really a sentinel. And yeah, I pushed you. Pushed you hard because I didn't want to accept that you might be right. But today, I did. Today I stood there and told you I accept how you feel about being a sentinel, how you feel about us being together. I accepted it and you know what? Acceptance stinks!" 

Blair drew himself in then, turning swiftly back to Jim, leaving him no time to reply. "I don't accept it, Jim? You hear me? I don't! I don't accept the perversion, I don't accept that it's unnatural. You want to be normal, don't you, and you're gonna reject everything about yourself that doesn't look like it's normal. In my book, that's the sick part. You are sick, Jim. Very sick. Only a sick man would turn away from the best chance at happiness he's ever had in his whole life!" 

"Blair, that's enough!" The words were wrenched out of Jim, with the force of a hurricane. "Christ, I thought we'd gone past all this. I thought ..." 

"You didn't think - you hoped. You hoped I'd let you get away with this. Well, maybe I can't stop you - but I'm sure as hell going to tell you what I really think - and you are _going_ to listen to me!" Blair pushed Jim back against the wall with one hand, holding him there, the force burning a band on his chest. "You're right. What we have isn't normal. Normal is something else entirely. Normal is a world that's ready to go to war because of a madman nobody would stop when they could. Normal is city streets filled with crime and violence, families enslaving their children just to feed them. Normal is shutting a sentinel in a mental ward because of his advanced abilities. Normal is a man throwing his grandson out in the street because he had the audacity to be caught kissing a boy. So yeah, Jim, us being in love isn't anything like normal - and you know what? I wish it was. I wish everyone could feel this way about somebody some time in their lives because the world would be a much, much nicer place. But it isn't normal, Jim. It never will be - because people like you are too stupid to see it for what it is!" 

Blair let him go then, standing back, hauling air into his lungs, steadying himself. When he spoke again, his voice cracked a little, "It was stupid of me to waste so much of my life looking for acceptance. I don't need it. No matter what I am, I can live with it, make the most of it. But you? You'll spend the rest of your life, trying to be normal and hating yourself because you aren't. I wish you wouldn't. I wish you would aim for something so much better than that." 

For a moment, Jim was sure he could see tears in those blue eyes - but then abruptly, Blair turned away. 

"I'm sorry, Simon. I didn't plan this. I'll go now." Blair went to the door. He opened it, paused and turned back to look at Jim. "In the years to come, Jim, when you're busy wallowing in regret, just remember one thing, okay? Just remember that I love you." 

And then he was gone. 

* * *

Soft gentle sounds came from the kitchen; water being poured, something being sliced, something being wrapped in something tender and moist. Jim listened without focussing, making no effort to isolate the sounds, to pick them apart one by one, working out what each meant, on an individual basis. As a whole, he knew them to be Simon's movements and that was enough. 

A rumble of thunder echoed across the western sky and he looked up from his perch on the balcony. A splinter of moonlight illuminated the clouds, giving them a perfectly threatening glow, danger in every curved mass. Rain was a matter of minutes away and then he would have to go inside or sit here and get drenched. 

He'd long since given up the chair. The ground was much better for him, the hard concrete and metal railing much more able to support his weight in the manner he preferred at the moment. His left hand hung hooked in the ironwork, a stubborn reminder that he would have to get up and move one day, move on and start again. 

And do what? 

_With_ what? 

With whatever he had left after Blair walked out? Who could make a life with those few threads, eh? 

Hell, who would _want_ to? 

"I think it's time you came in, Jim." Simon stood above him, a plate and glass in his hands. "You've been out here for two hours. It's going to rain soon. Why don't you go to bed, eh? Try to get some sleep." 

"Everybody wants me to sleep," Jim murmured, "like that's going to make a difference. You know full well what happens when I go to sleep." 

"Yeah, you dream about Blair - unlike now, when you're just thinking about him. At least when you're asleep, your body gets some rest." 

"I'll sleep later." 

"Right." Simon leaned down and put the plate and cup beside Jim, "At least do me a favour and have something to drink." 

"In a minute." 

Simon said nothing. He just sat on the ground, his back against the railing, at right angles to Jim. For long moments, Jim simply listened to the city, to the noises in the street, idly dialling up and down, as he'd been taught. He'd learned that much. 

"You don't know what to do, do you?" 

"Nope." 

"Well," Simon paused, obviously choosing his words. "Maybe you could convince him to stay. If you told him how you felt." 

"He knows I love him. Shit," Jim felt a wrench from deep inside and gulped a breath to steady it. "That's the first time I've said it out loud." 

"Problem is, you're saying it to the wrong man." 

Jim watched the sky for a moment, watched the gulls fly off down to the docks where they sat along the prow of any ship they chose. "So ... does that mean that you don't think two men being together is wrong?" 

"Jim, I don't ever want to hear you ask me that question again." 

"Why not?" 

"Because it doesn't matter what I think. I'm not your conscience, just your friend. I know my job. I think I do it pretty well." 

"You do, you do." Jim sighed and shook his head. "Too well, sometimes." 

Silence reigned again. A silence of words only, as the city below continued with a life of it's own. Humming, rumbling, laughing and crying. A kind of comfort. 

"So, what have you decided to do? Stay on? Become my partner? Daryl would love to see you here at Christmas. Then after that we have Chinese New Year. Now that's quite a sight. Festivities go on for days. There's a parade down one of the main streets and they bring lanterns and the big dragon out. Fireworks, feasts, everything you could ask for." 

"Sounds like a bribe." 

"Hey, I'm not above a little corruption when necessary. I'm not the man who used to be a cop, remember." 

"And you're also not the one who broke the law." Jim frowned, feeling again for the first time since Blair had walked out. Words ready to be spoken, were lost in the vastness of that empty place inside him. 

Blair was leaving. Leaving _him_. 

"What time does his ship sail?" 

"On the morning tide." 

"Tomorrow that will be ... eight fifteen." 

"I guess." 

Simon shifted beside him, rose to go inside. He returned a moment later with two beers already open. 

Jim got to his feet, took one and swallowed deeply, letting the cold liquid burn down his throat and into his stomach. He leaned his arms on the railing and studied the view before him, one he had become so familiar with. 

"I don't hear you snapping up my offer of a partnership." 

"I guess you don't." 

"So, do you know what you want to do?" 

"Do?" A sleek white ship stood against the north jetty, within the confines of the harbour, a crowd of gulls flocking and swooping the water nearby. If he concentrated, he could see the words on her stern. Fremantle, Panama. 

"Yeah, do. With your life. If you don't want to be a fisherman, what do you want to do?" 

Jim took another mouthful of beer, read those words again, just to make sure. Then he took in a deep breath, held it before letting it out. "I think ... I want to ..." 

Did he? Really? Did he have a choice? 

Yes, he did. 

"What? You want to what?" 

Jim shook his head, his gaze never leaving that distant sight. "I want to be a sentinel." 

* * *

According to sea-lore, the appearance of an albatross flying over stern or bow of a ship, forewarned of impending disaster. But standing on the deck of the Fremantle, watching this huge bird swoop and dive, Blair couldn't imagine how such a legend could have started. The enormous wingspan flashed bright against the moonlight, made it shimmer and vanish, only to return moments later, somewhere else. A ghostly visitation of lithe beauty, perfectly suited to this open expanse of ocean, where no land marred the perfect horizon. 

Singapore was more than twelve hours behind him now. That lusty cacophony of scents no longer filled the air, the ever-present rumble of the city now little more than a memory, replaced by the constant hum of the ship's engines, the grinding rhythm of the screw turning beneath this feet. Only twelve hours and already he was used to it, only noticed these new noises when he thought about them directly. But, like the gentle, rolling gait of the ship as it wound its way across the South China Sea, even the absence of humidity settled into the background, failing to appear important any more. The human body could adapt so quickly. 

And the human mind? 

Singapore was twelve hours behind him. The past however, remained; packed and transported along with the rest of his luggage, as essential to him now as his typewriter, his books and clothes. Only difference was, he had to carry it on the inside, where people couldn't see it and avoid tripping over it. 

Tonight ... 

Blair shook his head, let his feet take him closer to the railing, where he could see the churning water below, the heavy swell of the sea, the moonlight glisten off the white froth of the ship's wake. 

Tonight had nearly been a disaster. The Captain's cocktail party to welcome new passengers. Blair had only gone because he hadn't wanted to spend the first night on board sitting in his suite, with a book to read as his only distraction. This was supposed to be a new life, and he had to make an effort right from the start. 

So he'd gone to the cocktail party, he'd shaken hands, smiled, swapped a few jokes, generally bored himself silly and wondered why he'd preferred this to reading - when he found himself being subtly but deliberately seduced by the first officer. A man with laughing eyes and a body that looked certainly equal to the task he'd set himself. 

When the realization first hit Blair, he'd been tempted to simply run \- but this being a new life and all, he'd instead led the man to one side and spoken to him carefully and cleanly. Thanks, but no. The first officer had tried gently to dissuade him but eventually he left off, leaving Blair in no doubt that should he change his mind, the offer would remain open. 

Was he wearing a sign on his back all of a sudden? Available. Heartbroken. In grave need of repair. Will consider all offers, male or female. 

Huh. 

Judging by the way some of the ladies on board had behaved towards him today, perhaps he did have a sign. Perhaps he should write one up, adding the word, schmuck to the bottom. Might warn a few of them off. 

Or maybe this really was a new life and he was no longer pretending, no longer trying to hide what was going on. Maybe this was the first consequence. What others would there be - and how much trouble would he get into because of them? 

Then again, it wasn't as though he'd never done this before, never simply packed up and moved on. But this time, there was something fundamentally different about him. Something had changed inside him and it was never going to change back. 

Never was a very long time. A long time to spend avoiding regret, sifting through the things he could have said, things he could have done differently. But this was a new life, and he'd determined to leave regret behind, as he'd done with the city, as he'd done with Jim. 

But, as with regret, it hadn't been so easy to do, so easy to leave Jim behind. In fact, he'd lost count of the number of times last night when he'd changed his mind, determined he would stay, find some way to get the man to change _his_ mind. But as many times as he had, he'd always returned to the same conclusion. If Jim didn't want him, what was the point? 

No, knowing all that didn't make it easier, didn't ease the deep hurt weighing down inside him like a ship's anchor. Nothing but time was going to do that. A lot of time. 

Of course, time was about the only thing he had at his disposal. Time to go back over the last few weeks, remembering. Catching glimpses in his mind of the first day he'd worked with Jim, that dinner by the river, the way Jim had touched his hand, the way Jim had smiled at him, had defended him by hitting Carl. 

The night they'd made love. 

He could have said no. At any point. He could have said no. But wanting and needing had seized him that night and for a few hours, Jim _had_ loved him. It had been so obvious in every touch, every kiss, every response. It might have been Jim's first time with a man - but so much of what he'd done was so totally focussed on what Blair needed, his own needs had come a poor second. 

He'd wanted Blair to take him. He'd wanted Blair to love him. 

Perhaps he _had_ been a fool not to say no that night - but if so, he'd been a fool who knew that night would happen some time. From the moment they'd met, there had been that promise between them, that desire, that need. Every minute he'd spent in Jim's company had only aroused his awareness further, brought that moment closer - and he'd seen in Jim' eyes, the heated attraction was wholly mutual. 

It stood to reason that one day they would give in. Both of them. 

And at least, if nothing else, he did have some good memories to take away with him. Memories of those gentle touches, the fevered touches, the feel of hands on his body which ignited a fire he'd thought would consume him. 

And memories of being held as he'd cried. Perhaps those most of all. 

Memories of love. 

Blair breathed in deeply of the sea air, letting his gaze drift over the black ocean, the long stretch of rippling moonlight, thick and silky. The albatross was gone now, no longer suggesting disaster. 

"A romantic view like this should be enjoyed in the company of a man who appreciates it." 

Blair froze. Gulping hard, he closed his eyes, willing away the sound of that voice, the cruel nightmare his imagination was playing on him. 

"Just so happens, I know the very man." 

A shudder ran through him - but he could do nothing to stop himself from turning, from opening his eyes to find Jim standing there. Tall, tanned, so elegant in white shirt and trousers, sleeves rolled up, collar open. Eyes watching him, equally open, as though the reality he was facing was a threat he couldn't bear to contemplate. 

Blair swallowed, "Jim? Where did you come from?" 

"Same place as you. Singapore." He moved a little closer, his gaze drifting to encompass the moonlit view, the others on deck around them. 

"But how did you ... I mean, we left Singapore this morning." Jim was here. On board the ship. He was here. 

Jim's reply came low and level, a firm accompaniment to the rumble of the engines. "I didn't come to you before because I wanted to get far enough away from a convenient port so you couldn't make them put me ashore." 

"But I wouldn't ..." 

"Wouldn't you?" Jim came closer until he stood directly in front of Blair. Now more than ever, Blair was aware of the others out on deck with them, how near they were, how their words carried to him over the rumble of the engines. How anything he said to Jim would be equally overheard. 

"No. I wouldn't." Blair glanced around, his mouth dry, his heart doing little skipping jumps every now and then, just to keep him on his toes. 

Might have had something to do with the close physical presence of the man, with the way his body remembered, oh so well, how it had felt to be even closer, to touch hard naked flesh against his own. 

He had to blink when Jim began speaking. 

"Nice ship, though. I'm in steerage, E deck. Sold the car to Simon, hauled together the last of my savings, borrowed a little more from Simon to make up the rest. It was enough to get me a bunk with access to a shower. Nothing flash but I've travelled in a lot less style than that. I'm not sure I'm supposed to be on this deck - but I'll wait until they throw me off. Or you do, whichever comes first." 

"I won't ..." But Blair couldn't finish that. He had to turn away, place his hands on the railing to steady himself, had to try to think properly. Had to tone down his body's overwhelming response to Jim being here, Jim being so close. Had to work out why Jim was here, work out how he felt about that, how he ... 

"You don't trust me, do you?" Jim's voice was soft, close to his ear, leaving a warm breath of tangible evidence that rippled across Blair's skin like a caress. 

"No," Blair replied as soft as he dared, risking the sentinel would hear him and no-one else. 

"I guess I can't blame you." 

Blair looked up then, to find Jim's gaze meet his, ghostly blue reflecting the moonlight. Within that gaze were shadows, highlights and contours Blair could barely read let alone understand. But he could also see desire and need. Jim held himself as a man who expected condemnation and rejection, the wind ruffling through his shirt moving nothing of the solid body beneath. 

Unmovable. 

"Why are you here?" Blair finally managed. 

Jim glanced around again, pausing as if to scent the air. He appeared distant and remote, not cold - just separate. "We need to talk." 

"About?" 

A faint smile creased the corners of his eyes as he looked back down at Blair. A warm smile, the smile he loved so much, framed with more than a little uncertainty and fear. "What do you think?" 

"I don't think we have anything more to say to each other. I think ..." 

"What?" 

"That enough damage has been done for one lifetime." Blair clasped his hands together just in case Jim could see the way they were shaking. "You know very well I left Singapore to avoid this. You're right - I don't trust you." 

Amazing that the voice can work like that, sounding almost normal when the object of so many dreams, hopes and wishes - not to mention desires \- stood no more than a foot away from him and every inch of him everything he'd always wanted. 

So typical that while he couldn't trust, he also wanted, wanted to forget trust and simply drown in wanting - but he'd done that before and he'd paid for it. 

"Blair," Jim began softly, "we do need to talk. I understand that you don't trust me but I'm asking you, please?" 

Once, Blair would have hated that quiet plea, would have hated Jim for doing this - but he'd left hate behind when Carl had nearly killed him. In its place was a need he'd never been able to deny - and couldn't do so now. "Okay ... so talk." 

"Not here." There was that gaze again, a trifle unsteady but an open desire clearly displayed. 

"Where?" 

"Somewhere private - but if you're not comfortable with that, I'd rather be at least indoors where we can't be overheard. The question is, do you trust me enough to talk to me alone?" 

Jim framed his silence around a piercing gaze, hard, yet yielding. It was a good question. Risk and be damned or - not risk and still be damned. Good question. Not much of an answer available, though. 

Besides, Blair had already done his time as one man's victim. He might not trust his own responses - but he did trust Jim not to force anything on him. Nothing that he didn't already want, himself. 

"Okay." Blair nodded. "We'll talk." 

* * *

As Blair turned and headed across the deck Jim followed, sidestepping rope bollards and other white metal structures whose functions he could only guess at. Blair headed for the port side, where two of the four suites on this deck had doors to seaward. 

Blair's hands shook a little as he pulled out the key and Jim stepped a little closer, "Don't be afraid, Chief, I'm not here to hurt you." 

A faint nod was the only response. Blair put the key in the lock, opened the door and reached out to switch on the light. 

Jim stopped him. He couldn't do this in light, didn't need to. He needed the shadows. "Open the curtains. Let the moonlight in." 

"Why?" Blair murmured dryly, "So it'll be more _romantic_?" 

"No. Just having a bit of trouble with electric light." The lie came easily, as though in preparation for the truths soon to be uttered. 

"Oh." Blair moved to the windows and pulled the curtains wide. A pale blue glow filtered across the room, dusted the rich carpet, cast deep shadows on the lounge suite, left the doorway through to the bedroom in complete darkness. Jim only spent a moment glancing around before returning his attention to the man before him. 

The man before him. 

Blair. 

_His name was Blair. And his voice was soft honey, lingering over every part of him, leaving a trail for him to follow. Breadcrumbs scattered across a laden night, bright and dark, hard and impossible._

Blair. His love. 

Jim reached out and placed his hands on Blair's shoulders, felt them stiffen, knew Blair wanted to turn around. Jim dipped his head, inhaling deeply of the scented hair, warm and fragrant, musky, clawing at memories scattered across the last few weeks. Without thinking, he drew the hair tie off, ran his fingers through silky locks he'd always wanted to touch in this manner. 

Blair shivered. 

The fractional movement reverberated through Jim's body, echoing around walls decades in the building, rattling and subsiding, arousing and reminding him why he was here. 

No games tonight. No half-truths, no excuses. 

No going back. 

He let his senses drift on that beloved scent, let it soothe and calm him, let it guide him. "Do you have any idea," Jim whispered in the silence, "How beautiful you are in the moonlight?" 

Blair swallowed hard, as if controlling himself was his only hope of survival. "What did you want to talk about?" 

Slowly, Jim turned him and took a lock of hair between his fingers, "I want to talk about you and me. The future. Maybe a bit of the past. A lot about right here and now. Take your pick." 

Shaking his head, Blair couldn't keep the tremor out of his voice, "Jim, I don't ... understand why you're here. I mean ..." 

Jim placed two fingers against his lips and for a moment, the temptation to end the conversation with a kiss almost overwhelmed him. Just the feel of the man so close, of being able to touch him at all was too intoxicating for clear thought - and he needed to be clear, he need to do this right \- or not at all. 

He was determined, yes, but that didn't slow the heavy tumbling in his stomach, didn't ease the taught muscles in every line of his body. But he had to hold on, had to get through this, had to make this man understand. 

Even now he wasn't sure he could do it. Even though he'd come all this way, travelled so far, he still wasn't sure he believed this, that Blair would believe him. 

His heart began to thud hard and he had to swallow to put some moisture back in his mouth. "Let's sit down, eh?" 

"Okay." 

Blair sat on the couch. Jim stood there a moment, looked down at him, then sat as well, this time, not touching Blair at all. He turned, put his arm along the back of the couch and watched the play of moonlight across that lovely face. There was an expression there, grave, unhindered, open, prepared and yet not, for whatever it was Jim was about to say. 

He was afraid. 

Well, that made two of them. 

No. He couldn't do this sitting down. Maybe he couldn't do it at all. 

He got to his feet, took a few steps away, half-turned back and paused. He had to try, at least. He owed it to Blair. Owed it to himself. He had to try. 

"I couldn't let you go," he whispered finally, his voice a little unsteady, trying desperately to gather his courage. "Couldn't let you walk out of my life as though I didn't give a damn, couldn't risk you going off into a place like South America, knowing the dangers you'd be facing. I don't know but maybe, if you hadn't left, I might not be here, talking." 

"Why are you here?" Blair's voice was rough but oddly, it was enough to encourage Jim to turn and face him. "Why, Jim? What do you want?" 

"You." The admission came so swiftly, from so deep inside, Jim had no ability to stop it, to even elaborate on it. A gut reaction, nothing more. 

"Me?" One single second ticked by - and then Blair's heart began hammering in his chest again. Jim couldn't help hearing it, wanted - needed to do something about it. 

Jim shrugged; a feigned nonchalance; a pattern of truth. "I ... I heard you're looking for a sentinel. As it happens, I'm ... er ... looking for a guide." 

"I don't believe you ..." Blair stared at him, the words trailing off as though his own feelings were tangled in a battle to the death, none winning supremacy. 

For long seconds, Jim held his silence, simply waiting, knowing the next move was Blair's. 

Then, his voice unsteady, Blair murmured, "Are you serious?" 

"Would I be here if I wasn't?" No. Wouldn't be here at all. 

"And you're here because you ... want me to be your guide?" 

Jim shook his head, needing to go to Blair then, knowing what he was thinking - but he held his ground. He had to say this and it was time. He had to say it standing on his feet, where he couldn't actually touch the man, where he didn't have his senses feeding him things that might distract him, might make Blair distrust his words. 

He swallowed, took a short breath and replied, "I'm here because I love you. Because I want to spend the rest of my life with you." 

"Shit!" Blair stood, took a couple of steps away, turned, looked back at Jim then returned to his seat. "Christ." More deep breaths were required before he could find something else to say, something that had a little more content, might take the conversation a little further than mere expletives could. 

"I'm sorry," Jim murmured. Damn, this was hard. Harder than he'd thought possible. 

But he had said it at last. Said the words that had been tugging away in the back of his mind for so long. 

Carefully and slowly, he moved back to the couch, his fear only briefly flaring as Blair watched him sit. "I'm sorry," he said again. 

Blair waved a hand, "That's okay. Um ... I ... er..." 

Jim was too close now, too near that presence which inflicted too much on his senses. The cast of moonlight across those features, showing the blue eyes, the slightly open mouth, tantalizing him with each movement. So very beautiful. "If you've changed your mind, just say so, okay?" 

"Changed my mind?" Blair snapped his head around, eyes wide. "Changed _my_ mind? Is that some kind of joke? Jim, don't get me wrong - this declaration, it's ... well, it's great but ... I don't ... well, I'm having a hard time believing it." 

Without permission, his hand reached out and took one of Blair's, holding it, gaining strength from it. "You said you knew I loved you." 

"Of course. No, that's not what I mean." 

Again Jim reached out, put a hand beneath Blair's chin, forcing his gaze to meet his own. "What do you mean?" 

"Why? Why now?" Blair paused to shake his head, "What's happened? What changed?" 

And the sadness welled up inside Jim then, a powerful tidal wave of darkness no sun was likely to diminish. It weighed down on him, almost suffocating him as it had done for most of his life. 

This is why I'm here, Blair. Can you see it? Can you understand? 

His voice, when he spoke, sounded like it belonged to somebody else - and perhaps in a way, it did. "Nothing changed." 

Blair didn't understand. "Then why are you here?" 

"Because nothing changed." Jim held up a hand to forestall interruption and continued, "That's exactly what I'm trying to tell you. I mean, I wanted to change, tried to, tried to make it work. Tried to do all the things I thought used to work but in the end, nothing changed. I wanted you from the first moment I met you. I fell in love with you so quickly, I didn't even see it - and despite everything that's happened since, I don't feel any differently. I still want you, I still love you. Nothing changed." 

Jim paused, dropping his gaze to where he held Blair's hand, tried to contain the pain to a place where he could live with it, where it would no longer hurt this man he loved. "You know the things I called myself, how I hated my weakness and everything - but I could never hate you for the same things. I ... I can't alter a lifetime belief overnight, Chief, and you're right - this isn't normal." 

Jim had to pause again, pause and breathe, pause and push himself to say these last words, the final words, find the place inside that had cracked and shattered the night he'd made love to this man. The place where this had been real, more real than the curses and self-condemnation. 

Air filled his lungs, gave him the voice, but it was love which formed the words, caused them to be spoken. "This isn't normal. But ... but ... it does feel ... natural. Being with you always has. Does that make any sense?" 

He had to look up to find a response - but for a moment, Blair didn't so much as blink. 

But Jim could feel it, as he had done once before, on a beach a long way from here. He could feel what Blair felt, and as he had done before, he reached up, brushed his fingers down the side of Blair's face. 

This time, the man leaned into his touch, "Yeah, that makes sense, Jim." 

And then Blair was moving, coming closer, taking Jim's face between his hands, coming closer and suddenly Jim was kissing him, softly, deeply, taste joining the other senses on alert, tasting and marking, timelessly. Blair's kisses claimed him. 

He knew there were tears in his eyes, falling down his face but he simply pulled Blair closer, wrapped his arms around that beautiful body until Blair was straddling his lap, arms around Jim's neck. Tears of joy, tears of sadness. Tears for the end and the beginning of something he still didn't really understand. 

Nothing had changed. He'd been born with sentinel senses, born to fall in love with a man and now, almost forty years later, he could see that it was never going to change. 

And ... and he wasn't sure he wanted it to any more. 

The sadness filled him then, crested and broke inside. More tears fell, tears he could have shed years ago if he'd known this man then. He broke the kiss, pulling Blair tight against his body, heaving air in, laced with the scent so necessary to him. 

So much time wasted. So much love wasted - and yet, Blair was still here, still loved him, still wanted him. 

No, he didn't want it to change. He wanted this. Exactly this. "I love you," his broken voice offered, free, untarnished. "I love you so much, Blair. Please, let me love you the rest of my life. Please tell me you love me." 

"I love you, Jim. I do, I do." And Blair was kissing him again, harsh, rough, holding Jim's face, not letting him go, letting his body speak for him, using words both understood too well. "I love you, Jim. Don't ever doubt that, okay? I love you." 

And those lips took his again, hot and demanding, giving force to the words and ... deep within that kiss, Jim found that place again. 

This was real. This was his life. 

His hands moved up, the kisses slowed a little, having done their job. He could feel Blair's body shaking, feel Blair's arousal pressing against his own. A smile reached his face, unbidden but very welcome. Blair's response was a smile of equal proportions. 

With tender fingers, Jim traced the outline of Blair's eyes, nose, cheek and mouth, resting finally on his chin. "I can't lie, love, and tell you I'm not afraid." 

Blair nodded, "I know." And he did know. Perhaps he even understood. 

"You know I was married once but she ... well, it didn't work. I'm not sure I know how to do this. I'm not sure, after everything I've put you through, I just ..." He paused, swallowing hard, seeing some trace of fear remaining in Blair's eyes. "I'm going to make mistakes and I have no idea what I'll do if somebody finds out about us." 

Very softly, Blair murmured, "Would you leave me?" 

Jim met that level gaze with one of his own. "No. Not now. I would never leave you now. And," he paused, picking his way through the quagmire of his feelings, "I don't think I ever could." 

Blair nodded at that but didn't say anything immediately. For once, Jim couldn't guess what thoughts were drifting across that agile mind - but he was prepared to wait. Instead, he gently lifted Blair from his lap then stretched out on the couch, pulling the man on top of him, back into his arms until Blair's head relaxed onto his shoulder. 

He let the silence envelop them, allowing his hearing to open wide, collect in all the sounds beyond this room, the gently rattling windows, the hum and grind of the ship, the voices and music and clatter of other lives dwelling around them. Only then did he draw back in, keeping the connection open, returned to this room and this man. 

"Tell me what you're thinking?" 

Blair shifted a little, pulled in a short breath. "I guess I'm wondering whether you'll still be here in the morning." 

"Do you love me?" 

"Yes." 

"Then I'll be here in the morning." 

"Is it as easy as that?" 

"No. But it is that simple." 

"Will you travel with me? To South America?" 

"Yes. Wherever you go, I go. Equally simple." 

"And ..." Blair paused, swallowed, took his time, "will you be a sentinel?" 

"No, I'm already a sentinel." Jim felt a smile grow on his face, a silly smile. "I'm a sentinel who has a guide who loves him." 

He felt Blair nod at that. "Yeah, you are. Jim?" 

"Yes?" 

There was doubt there. Real doubt - but not yet overwhelming. But he couldn't blame Blair for it. He'd been hurt too many times by promises of love, of loyalty, of acceptance and forgiveness. 

"Jim ... I need to know." Blair pushed himself up until he found Jim's gaze. "Don't get me wrong - I do believe you mean what you say - but I ..." 

"You can't trust me?" 

Blair frowned a little, his gaze dropping to where his fingers played with Jim's shirt buttons. "I'm sorry. I want to. I want to say I do trust you and I want us to be together, Jim, you know that, don't you?" 

"Yes." 

Looking up at him again, Blair's eyes widened, locked on Jim's. Slowly, he leaned forward, pressed his lips against Jim's cheek, his voice was soft and gossamer-like against Jim's skin, "I never thought ... that you'd come with me ... that you'd be here. I mean, I wanted it ... I just never thought I'd get the chance to ..." He paused, swallowed and added, "I'm scared, too." 

Jim turned his head and took that mouth again, kissing deeply, tasting the heat, the warmth of the soul he was privileged to meet like this. Blair's body moved against his, hands touching, seeking out his own soul. Without fear now, Jim offered it up. 

"Blair, take one more risk for me. Just one. I promise, I won't hurt you again." 

Blair's reply was another kiss, fierce and demanding, harsh and short. Then Blair was gazing at him again, that heat, that warmth filling his eyes. "Make love to me? Give me that much?" 

Jim smiled, gently, letting him know, letting him understand, "I'll give you everything, love." 

"Will you?" Blair left small kisses along the line of his jaw, "Will you? I want you. I want to touch you and taste you and feel you inside me. I want us to make love, Jim." With each of these declarations, Blair touched him in a different place, sending sparks of excitement through his entire body. "Make love to me, Jim, give me something to hold onto when you leave in the morning." 

* * *

The bed sighed beneath him as Jim pulled Blair on top of him, his naked body bathed in golden light from the single lamp in the room. Sweet golden light, as sweet as Blair; dusting him in glory as pale as the night. 

Jim let out a moan as Blair's mouth descended upon his, opening little by little to his exploring tongue, his heart opening little by little to Jim's encouragement. Heat washed over him, dry and bitter, fraying the ends of his nerves until he could go back for more, more and always more. Small kisses, moist, tiny, lapping here and there, building slowly, tormenting him, creating a city of tingling pleasures that made him moan again. 

Blair hovered over him, loose hair a halo around his head. "Dial it up, Jim. I want to make love to a sentinel. Dial up your sense of touch." 

Jim shivered as Blair moved down his body, trailing gentle fingers over his flesh, leaving permanent marks in their wake, eddies swirling and cascading over senses tuned into one single person, one single moment. The moist mouth followed, hard tongue reaching out to taste and Jim could scent that moisture in the air around him, scent Blair's arousal, scent his existence. "I love you." 

"I know." Blair continued his journey south, hands pressing hard against stomach muscles, weaving into hair curled around Jim's shaft. Jim lifted his head in time to see Blair's mouth engulf him - and then his sight failed him as the hot wet mouth sent him to heaven, let him linger there with a forbidden promise of more. 

Jim stiffened against the bed, needing more, needing this to be closer. Every fibre, every sinew in his body trembled with desire, threatening do undo him in a second. He could feel what Blair was doing, feel the hands, so deft and sure, touching his balls, caressing his shaft, slipping down further to brush over the entrance to his body. 

"I love you." 

"I know." Blair shifted and moved between Jim's legs, his mouth continuing to lick and suck, softly, gently, bringing the pleasure in small doses, small enough for his heightened senses to deal with. Even so, it was almost overwhelming. Never before had he felt like this, needed this so much. 

Blair left him a moment, reaching into the bedside drawer. Jim had barely enough time to turn his sluggish attention when a new scent drifted towards him, powerful and heady, an elixir of dizzying ascents and murky depths he wanted to drown in. 

"It's just massage oil," Blair murmured, husky and seductive, the way he always sounded, sending firelights all along Jim's body. "Vanilla. An aphrodisiac I'm told." 

"Don't care," Jim managed, breathing deeply of it. "It's good." Jim spread his legs wide, pushing his hips down to meet the fingers questing entrance. 

And Blair's finger pushed into him, driving him so close to the edge, he nearly went over. 

"Oh, god! Blair!" He half sat up on the bed, hand reaching out to be grasped by Blair's, a connection, a flow of love from Blair's eyes to his own. 

"Dial it down now, love, or you'll come too soon." 

"Okay," Jim fell backwards and felt another finger slip into him, eased there by the sweet scent of vanilla, hot and inviting, just like his guide. It wasn't as intense this time, but still good, good enough to keep the dial there, right where he wanted it. He drifted into the vanilla ambrosia, feeling his muscles tighten against the intruders. 

Jim began to shiver, small trembles at first, making him clench his hands, but it soon infected his breathing and Blair left his task to stretch out on top of him again, kissing his throat, his jaw, sending that wonderful tongue around the edge of his ear. "Don't worry, love, I'm not going to do it tonight." 

"Why not?" Jim swallowed, cupping Blair's face between his hands. Too much of him wanting, too much of him still so afraid. 

"I don't want to scare you off again." 

"I love you, Blair. I want this. I want you to do it - and only you." 

"I know - but you've come such a long way in the last day. And maybe you want it too much. I need you to be relaxed, in control of how you feel, able to say no if you want to. Please, trust me, okay? I do want to take you - but not until you're ready." 

>From nowhere, Jim felt more tears prick at his eyes, "Damn, you _do_ love me, don't you?" 

And those wide blue eyes drew him in, as they had done from the very first moment, "Touch me, Jim, show me again how much _you_ love _me_." 

And Jim pulled him close again, kissing him deeply, filling him as he had been filled, pouring love into every part of his life. His hands roamed down over Blair's chest, feeling soft nipples grow hard with the attention. He took one between his teeth, nibbling gently, making Blair hiss. He didn't need to be a sentinel to sense Blair's arousal, to know the effect he had on this body. 

He rolled over until Blair lay under him. Keeping his lips on that furred chest, he let his hand move down to capture a steely shaft, joyously making it harder with his caresses, feeling again that strength he loved so much, satiny smooth and leaking with need. How could there not be joy in making love to this body, a man's body, when, bathed in golden light, it seemed so ethereal, so heavenly, so masculine? 

So very Blair. 

Jim sent his tongue to follow the line of muscle from nipple to shoulder, followed down along the inside of the arm, where the skin was smooth and supple, young and new. More musky scents rose to greet his journey, celebrating with him as he bathed the inner elbow, tasted it, moved down further to nip the soft veined wrist. The hand touched his face, loving and gentle and he looked up to find heated blue eyes watching his every move. 

"You touch me like a lover. You always have." 

Jim smiled, turned his head and kissed the palm, allowing his tongue to linger, revelling in the shiver this produced across Blair's body. "Roll over, love." 

Kneeling, Jim took in the glowing form of Blair's back as he settled once more, one arm above his head, his right spread out on the bed beside him. With one finger, Jim traced the outline of shoulder and muscle, spine and ass, dipping over perfect curves soft and hard, trailing lightly over the tempting crack between. 

Blair shivered again but Jim moved on, touching the angle between ass and leg, going further, finding more, muscle and bone, on down towards the foot. Flattening his palm out now, he slowly drew back up again, very slowly, one single stroke every few seconds, eliciting another tremor from his love. 

His hand tarried again at the smooth round ass, long enough to make Blair push back against his touch. A gentle squeeze and he was moving again, up Blair's right side, up and up to stop beneath his arm. 

Without pausing, Blair turned and sat up, slipping into Jim's arms, meeting the kiss that was waiting for him. A long kiss, of tongues meeting, of love meeting and making more love. 

Ablaze now, Jim wrapped his arms around the smaller man and lifted him to his knees. As Blair settled, Jim raised up over him, hands at Blair's throat, fingers lacing through long hair hanging down his back, eyes looking down into such deep blue depths, he found his own getting lost in them. The answer in Blair's had no words to match it and breaking apart inside, Jim plunged down for another kiss, holding that mouth, keeping it, savouring the man and everything he was, all so wonderful, so beautiful nobody in this world really deserved it. 

And then Blair was reaching for the oil bottle again, his eyes steady on Jim's. He took Jim's hand, poured some of the sweet scent upon his fingers and drew the hand behind him. Jim required no more guiding, but he allowed Blair to urge him down where his fingers found that place, the warmth inside Blair. 

He pushed a finger inside and Blair rose up against him, moaning softly as he was probed and stretched. Jim continued the preparation, leaving hard kisses along Blair's throat as he slipped another finger inside that hole. 

"God, Jim!" Blair's voice caught, his body moving up and down to take more into him. "What you do to me." 

Those words, deep and dangerous, flooded hunger through Jim, matching need for need, desire for desire, lust for lust. "Anything like what you do to me?" 

"Oh, I hope not," Blair whispered, sucking in a lobe before releasing it. He held on with one hand, the other slipping between them to take Jim's shaft, caress it temptingly. "One of us insane at a time is enough. More, please, Jim." 

Jim pulled him closer, balancing them both on his knees, pushing a third finger deep inside. The groan from Blair was primeval, reaching so deep into Jim, he could almost have been on the receiving end of this. 

"Will you leave me tomorrow?" Desperate, urgent words spoken as Blair's body took what it needed, gave in return. 

"No." Jim kissed a muscled shoulder, drawing the flesh into his mouth, sucking hard. 

"You will." Another moan. 

"I'll never leave you." Another nip at the throat, leaving another mark. Equally primeval. 

"You will tomorrow, when you realize what we've done." 

The jaw now, gentler, still sucking, leaving an invisible mark. "It's too late for that. I'll never leave you." 

"I don't believe you." 

"I know." 

"I love you, Jim." 

"I know." 

And Blair moved again, dislodging the fingers in his ass. He pushed Jim back, pushing him to sit against the wall, reaching for the oil and coating Jim's cock with it, brisk, hard, furious with need enveloping them both. When he was done, he straddled Jim's hips, placed his hands on steady shoulders and impaled himself as he joined his mouth to Jim's. 

Jim groaned, loud, feeling Blair swallow the sound. So tight, so hot, so incredible, so beautiful, this man. So natural to make love to him. So wonderful being inside him. 

Inside Blair. Cock, tongue, life and soul. All inside Blair. 

Rocking against him, rising and falling, demanding it, taking it from Jim, taking it into his body, just taking and Jim gave, and gave, his arms holding the man, feeling the man, knowing this was a man and loving him for being a man. 

"Please, don't leave me again." 

"I'll never leave you, sweetheart, never." 

"Oh, god, Jim!" Blair rose and slammed back down on him, his breathing harsh, matching Jim's, gasping, desperate, threatened. 

He barely got a hand on Blair's cock before the man bucked up into him, violent, sending his seed onto their joined chests. The first step and Jim went over the edge, driven and needing, taking his own love, taking and giving, leaving behind his own seed as promise, as declaration. As guarantee. 

Blair fell against him, breath trembling, fighting, whimpers from deep in his chest, noises Jim recognized, noises which broke his heart. With a moan, he gathered his mourning guide close, kissed his forehead, held him, felt arms hold him in return, felt hot tears reach his shoulder. 

"Ssh, it's okay, love, it's okay. I know, I know." 

"You don't!" Blair croaked, trying to swallow down his bitterness. In reply, Jim smoothed his hair, crooned to him, calming him, letting him calm himself. 

"I do know, love." He whispered. "You did find someone, sweetheart. You found me." 

* * *

Epilogue 

Above the thickest layer of trees, the mountain rose again, diving into the cloud-filled sky with an abandon normally reserved for living things. Sharp and steep, this peak stood surrounded by its cousins, peering at the tiny humans below, insignificant and frail - or at least, that's how it felt to Jim. 

And familiar. Yeah, very familiar. 

He came to a corner in the path and stopped, letting his aching legs rest a moment, his tortured lungs recapture something they'd lost about two hours before. And as he rested, he gazed again up at the incredible mountains, across at the morass of jungle which reached deep into the valley. Incredible greens assailed him from every angle, lush and warm, more solid against the pale grey sky. The only other colour he could see apart from the red soil at his feet, were occasional flashes of brilliant yellow or blue, exotic birds screeching overhead before plunging back into the demesne. 

It had been a tough climb to get this far - but even if this trip failed, it was worth it just to see the view. This country was so beautiful, even as it haunted his awareness, prodded at things he thought he'd forgotten. 

He resumed walking, his eyes turning inexorably to Blair, climbing a little ahead of him. So strong, so determined; unflinching of the demands this kind of trip made on him. He was dressed much as Jim was, his sweat-sheened skin tanned and weathered in this climate. He wore his usual trail gear, dark trousers, shirt with the sleeves torn off, backpack and boots, a long knife hanging from his belt, long hair tied back out of the way. He looked like he'd been born to this rather than the comforts of a wealthy home, or even a university. Jim never got tired of this, never wished for anything else any more. Not when this man waited on the trail ahead of him, turning with a weary smile. 

"Are you okay?" Jim said as he drew level. Blair nodded but Jim pulled out his water bottle anyway and removed the cap. He handed it to Blair. "Drink." 

Not taking it, Blair looked up at him, eyebrows raised, a twinkle of something in his eyes, "I may not know who my father is - but I do know my mother - and you look nothing like her." 

Jim just shook his head and took Blair's hand, placing it around the bottle. Blair swallowed twice and would have finished then except that Jim just pushed the bottle up to his mouth once more and made him take another drink. When he handed it back, Jim took a drink himself and put the bottle away. "You keep playing this game, Sandburg and I won't let you come on the next trip." 

"Huh! Let _me_ come on the next trip?" Blair said, rising helplessly to the bait before he could stop himself. 

"I'm serious, Chief." Jim couldn't quite prevent the growl from coating his voice. 

Blair raised his hands, "Jim, it was just something I ate - and it was almost a week ago. I feel fine, honest." He reached for his binoculars, pulled them out of their case and took a closer look at the jungle in the distance. "Can you see anything?" 

Jim shook his head again and turned once more to look out at the view, "No, not from here. But ..." 

Blair put the glasses away, "But what?" 

"I can smell smoke. Maybe a couple of miles away." 

"Anything else?" 

"Yeah ..." 

Jim concentrated - but he knew Blair was watching him. He always did. Once, about a year ago, he'd explained that it was something like being in the presence of a conjurer working an amazing trick. It seemed that even after eighteen months, the younger man hadn't lost his wonder at it all. 

Clearing his throat, Jim nodded, sorting words from senses, just as Blair had taught him, as they had developed this process together. "Fresh turned earth, some ... strong smell I don't know. And blood. An animal kill, I think. Still a bit far to be sure. Either way, there's definitely a settlement of some kind further ahead." 

Blair grinned and glanced up the trail. Reynaldo was coming back towards them, his neat black hair and moustache at odds with his rough and ready mountain clothes. 

"Senior! They come!" 

"Who?" Blair asked. 

"The scouts. They see us come. They meet with us, over this pass. Please, seniors, be wary, eh? These men are dangerous, si?" 

Blair began to move forward but Jim put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently, "Stay behind me, Chief, okay?" 

"But Jim ..." 

Jim just flashed him a smile him and shook his head a little, "Sentinel's job is to protect the guide, remember? Then let me do my job, love, and stay behind me." 

Blair just grinned, "Okay, okay." 

He saw Reynaldo heading back over the pass but Jim didn't immediately follow him. Instead, he paused, listened a moment to make sure they were alone, then turned back to Blair. The dark blue eyes were smiling at him now as his hand came up to touch Blair's face. 

"I hope you're not disappointed this time." Jim murmured, making the most of the moment, "And if you are, there's still plenty of Peru to explore - not to mention the rest of this continent. I'm sure you'll find another sentinel one day." 

Blair moved a little closer, "Maybe I'm just being greedy. I'm sure most guides only ever get one sentinel." 

"I should hope so," Jim chuckled and leaned down to give Blair a brief kiss. 

"What was that for?" Blair asked, obviously both pleased and surprised. His eyes were dancing in the morning light, making Jim's heart dance along. 

"Well, if we're going to be with these Indians for the next few weeks, I just wanted to make the most of you while I can. You know it's hell when I can't touch you for days on end." 

Blair sniggered, "Hey, I thought that's what this morning was all about." 

Jim shrugged, hiding a smile, "Oh yeah, so it was." 

"Doesn't matter," Blair reached up and kissed him, lingering a little longer, sharing taste and warmth and love. "I forgive you." 

"I find that very comforting." 

Blair stood there looking up at him, laughter in his eyes, across his face, filling his voice, "Do you have any idea just how smug you look at this moment?" 

"Smug?" Jim tried to pretend offence - but it didn't work. 

"Yeah, smug. Now, let's go and find Reynaldo before he sells all our gear to the ..." 

As Blair's voice trailed off, Jim went cold, his gaze automatically turning to the trail - to find ten or fifteen Indian warriors watching them, weapons ready but not aimed. Instantly, Jim pushed Blair behind him - but there appeared no immediate threat. 

At least, none that he could see - but these Indians must have seen them kissing. 

One of the warriors came forward, a man of Blair's height, though his build was slight. He wore the simplest of clothes and carried a staff in his hand. Bright red body paint adorned his face, making his dark eyes almost glow with life and intelligence. 

The man stopped before them and said something. His voice was low and gentle and Blair relaxed a little - even if Jim didn't. Reynaldo appeared again, pushing his way between the warriors, obviously pleased with himself. Once he arrived, the Indian repeated his words and Reynaldo translated. 

"He says you have come a long way." 

"Yes, that's right," Jim replied. "How far is their village?" 

"Another hour." Reynaldo spoke to the Indian and the Indian replied. "He says you may visit as long as you respect their laws." 

"Of course," Blair moved to Jim's side, and Jim instinctively placed a hand on his shoulder, a warning the others. "Tell him, we'd be happy to obey whatever laws they wish. We simply come to study and learn. We have brought our own food but are willing to work with the tribe to learn from them." 

As Reynaldo translated, Jim watched the Indian, watched the gaze move steadily from Jim to where Jim's hand rested on Blair's shoulder. Eventually the Indian nodded, giving a short reply. This reply seemed to puzzle Reynaldo as he asked for clarification. The Indian repeated his words and Reynaldo turned back to Jim and Blair. 

"What did he say?" Jim said quietly, no part of him relaxing at this exchange. 

"I do not understand his words exactly, senior, so it is my fault as a translator if his meaning offends." 

"That's okay, Reynaldo," Blair offered, unable to look away from the Indian and his all-seeing eyes. 

"This one," Reynaldo shrugged, "I have not met him before - but he is a shaman, a holy man. He said ... he said you are welcome, Enqueri and the mate of Enqueri, his guide. Forgive me, I do not understand ..." 

Jim blinked - but couldn't bring himself to look at Blair for a moment \- even though he knew Blair had turned to him. Without moving, Jim murmured, "He saw us, didn't he?" 

"Yeah." 

A slight jaw clench but Jim never took his gaze from the Indian. 

"Jim?" 

In response, Jim squeezed his shoulder. "You're right - he does know." 

"And?" 

Jim just nodded, relaxing a little more. "Okay, then." To Reynaldo, he said, "What is his name?" 

Another rapid exchange between the two men and finally Reynaldo turned back with a smile, "His name is Incacha, senior, Shaman to his people, the Chopec. Come, this way." 

With that, Reynaldo and Incacha turned and headed back up the trail. Jim followed, Blair taking up a place beside him. They walked in silence for a moment as the other Chopec fell in behind. 

This was too odd, too different and too familiar all at the same time. Incacha's response only made it more weird - and if he didn't say something now, he'd get in trouble later. "Chief?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Is it me, or does this feel strange to you, too?" 

"Yeah, it feels a little strange. You having any problems?" 

"No ... except that I ... well, you know those dreams I had, about the panther?" 

"Uh huh?" 

Jim reached out and took his hand, holding it as they walked. The gesture seemed to surprise Blair into silence. "Well, I think this is where they were." 

Blair began to laugh and Jim glanced aside at him, a lop-sided grin on his face, "What's so funny?" 

"Nothing, Jim, nothing at all." Blair squeezed his hand and continued climbing up the trail. 

"That's what I love about you, Chief." Jim chuckled, infinitely comforted by the sound alone. "Your ability to laugh at nothing." 

"That's okay, Jim, I love you, too." 

Soon the trail rose and crested the pass then dipped down once more into a long green valley and all of it warmed and welcomed him, making him feel at home. At every turn he expected to see the panther, but it never appeared. Even so, he wasn't worried, wasn't afraid. He simply kept hold of his Guide's hand. When the jungle surrounded them again, the mountains were lost to view, but by then, Jim didn't mind. Didn't mind at all. 

~Finis 

* * *

End Prison.


End file.
